Evergreen (Book 4): Nuclear Summer

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “No kidding. There’s no way they’d be able to even move one of those things without a truck… and the blue gang is all over that place.”

  “I hope they all die.” Renee looked down, shivering.

  Harper took her friend’s hand. “You know how I am about killing bugs. I don’t have any problem shooting those bastards. They’re lower than bugs.”

  “Thanks for finding me.”

  “Totally by chance.”

  Renee shrugged. “Still. Thanks.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Renee exhaled. “Just bad memories. I’d never been so damn scared for so long in my life.”

  “’Nee?”

  “Hmm?” She looked over.

  “If anything happened to you that you need to talk about, it’s okay.”

  Renee’s cheeks reddened. “Thanks. It didn’t. Well, nothing worse than being groped a lot. I wasn’t trying to avoid talking about stuff when I told you they fell for me lying about my age. You’re like the only person left alive who I’d tell if anyone… you know.”

  They hugged for a few minutes. Renee cried a little, though Harper only grew angrier at the Lawless gang. She focused as much energy as she could projecting her desire into the universe that her other friends got far away from Denver before the Lawless appeared.

  “Even if it happened without a war… maybe you’re the only one I could have told, too.” Renee sat back out of the hug, and sighed at her book. “Drat. Lost my page.”

  “Happened without a war?”

  “You know. If some guy attacked me. The end of the world really didn’t change the odds of that happening too much.” Renee gestured around at random. “Actually, I think it might have lowered them… now that I’m here. When everyone in town knows everyone, isn’t it less likely they’ll, umm, you know.”

  Harper pondered. “I dunno about that. The last time people in this country lived in places like this with conditions like this, girls weren’t allowed to vote or hold jobs. Pretty sure women still got attacked back then, but they couldn’t really talk about it or had no police to go to. Hell, remember that time we went to the mall on your twelfth birthday?” She scowled at the memory of three guys catcalling them, not even high-schoolers—grown ass men. They even started walking closer. And no one could’ve accused either Harper or Renee of looking older than their ages.

  “Yeah… that was so creepy.” Renee whistled. “Your dad wanted to hunt them down.”

  Harper gave a sad little laugh. “Yeah… I’m glad he didn’t find them.”

  “He could get away with it now. There’s no real law left. It’s frontier justice if any.”

  “I would totally blow the head off anyone who laid a hand on you.” Harper grinned.

  “That’s both reassuring and psycho at once.” Renee gave her side eye. “Because I don’t think you’re kidding.”

  Harper shook her head. “I’m not. Unless you begged me not to, I would.”

  “Thanks.” Renee picked up her book and proceeded to hunt for her page. “If it happens to you, I’m not sure I could hunt down and kill the bastard, but I’d tell Cliff. That’s as good as killing the guy myself.”

  “Yeah.” Harper fidgeted at The Secret Garden. If someone here in Evergreen raped her, she’d go shoot the son of a bitch herself, provided she hadn’t been too injured trying to fight the guy off to do so. If anyone was going to do that to her, they’d really have to work for it. She couldn’t decide if she’d be able to tell Cliff, but leaned toward probably. “We need to talk about something happier. I’m getting myself into a mood like I want to hop on a bike, go to Denver, and hunt Lawless for sport like some kind of Call of Duty level.”

  “Umm… so we’re figuring out how to turn flax into linen.” Renee flashed a cheesy smile. “This is super boring, but it’s kinda cool. Couple months, we’ll be making actual clothes.”

  “Nice.”

  Cliff, having finished the dishes, walked into the living room and leaned over the sofa back, his head between the girls. “If anyone lays a hand on either one of you, that hand’s going straight up their—”

  “Cliff?” called Carrie.

  He tapped his arm. “Right up to the elbow.”

  Harper smiled at him, blushing hard since he’d clearly overheard the entire conversation. Renee couldn’t quite look him in the eye.

  “Yes?” Cliff stood and twisted to peer back at Carrie.

  “Got a couple mini logs in need of splitting. Would you mind giving me a hand? Then there’s a pretty serious problem with the bathtub.”

  Cliff patted Harper and Renee on the head, then walked over to Carrie in the kitchen archway. “What’s wrong with the bathtub?”

  Carrie wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’s no one in it.”

  Harper bit her lip. Renee shot her a ‘did I just hear what I think I just heard?’ stare.

  “You two behave yourselves,” said Cliff. “No wild parties. And be in bed by… whatever time a kid your age is supposed to be in bed by.”

  Harper laughed. “Okay. No parties. Promise.”

  Cliff and Carrie headed out to the backyard.

  “They’re totally into each other.” Harper sighed wistfully. “It’s kinda cute.”

  “Yeah. Does that mean we’re technically sisters? I mean, if Carrie’s adopted me and Cliff’s adopted you…”

  “If we want it to. We’re both—okay, I’m eighteen and you will be in September, close enough. So we’re not like kids who really need parents. We can stay best friends, consider ourselves sisters; whatever you want.”

  “Cool. Being best friends for our entire lives in the old world is a link that like not many people have anymore. We should be more than just friends. Sisters works.”

  Harper fist-bumped her. “Done deal.”

  A few minutes of random talking petered out to another attempt to dive into their books while the not-too-distant repetitive thwunk of two axes splitting firewood came from outside. The shouts, cheers, and laughter of the kids migrated back and forth as they ran around playing soccer or a game similar to it.

  Harper read for a while before realizing she’d been looking at weird marks on the paper without comprehending them, mechanically turning pages—so she backtracked. Staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes without processing its meaning morphed into daydreaming about where she’d be if the war hadn’t happened. This would have been the summer break after her senior year in high school. Most likely, she’d have picked a college by now and no longer needed to worry about where to go, only what to major in. She and her friends would have been working summer jobs, hanging out when they could, going to movies or whatever, all looking forward to the adventure of college. Except maybe Darci. That girl didn’t want to go to school again. She’d constantly joked about dropping out of high school even, because she thought it ‘bogus.’ Only Harper and Renee insisting she’d regret it kept her from doing so. If anything, Darci might’ve gone to art or trade school. In Harper’s case, she would’ve been eager to put some distance between herself and the drama of a stressed-out Madison and her mother… and her kid sister wouldn’t have minded.

  While she’d more or less gone back to her old self, post-nuclear Madison remained far clingier than her pre-war version. Of course, she’d relaxed that about a thousand percent compared to how she’d been in the months right after they had to flee home.

  Being militia, Madison’s brittle emotional state, finding a dead guy, worry that Lawless would invade Evergreen at any minute, having killed people, anxiety over her feelings for Logan, and deep sorrow over her parents all jammed together in Harper’s head at once. She wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to hit a big red button and reset the world back to normal so she didn’t have to deal with all of this responsibility, guilt, and anxiety.

  Eventually, she caught herself staring at The Secret Garden without reading it.

  Dammit. I’m never going to finish this book. Eyes closed, she let a si
gh out her nose. I am strong. This is my world now and I’m grabbing it by the balls.

  Her emotions sorted, Harper resumed reading.

  Grace breezed in the door only a few minutes—one page—later. “Hey, guys.”

  “Argh!” Harper raised the book in a mocking gesture as if to throw it at her.

  “Eep!” Grace playfully ducked. “Sorry!”

  “Hey.” Renee waved. “How’s it going at the clinic?”

  “Fine. So far so good. Found some books at the library. We’re reading up on old-world medicines, trying to find things we can make for ourselves and not run out of. I never knew how many plants had medicinal purposes.” Grace held up a small dress. “Where’s Lore?”

  “Kids are out back.” Harper pointed over her shoulder with the book.

  “Wow, not on the video game?” Grace glanced at the TV.

  “Power’s down again.” Harper frowned. “Been out for two days now. Seriously hoping it’s back up before bath day.”

  Renee shivered. “No kidding. It’s still weird thinking of a specific ‘bath day.’ I used to shower every morning and almost every night before bed.”

  “We should go scavenge up some candles.” Grace raised an eyebrow. “Head up the road to the next town. A road trip could be fun.”

  “Not a bad idea, but we don’t have working vehicles anymore. The gas is all gone. Not worth the risk to take a two- or three-day trek for candles.” Resigned, Harper stuck the bookmark in and closed the novel. “Easier to just go inside after dark.”

  “Yeah,” said Renee. “And we’ll eventually make our own candles here.”

  “From what petroleum? Paraffin is made from oil.” Grace sat on Cliff’s recliner. “There’s no such thing as an oil industry anymore.”

  “They had candles long before they had oil.” Renee scrunched up her nose. “What did they make them out of?”

  “Wax?” Harper shrugged. “Bees, right?”

  “Come on, Grace. You got the huge brain.” Renee stuck out her tongue.

  “Umm. History was never my favorite subject. But it’s gotta be in a book somewhere.” Grace fell dramatically back over the recliner, the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I miss Google.”

  Harper and Renee chuckled.

  “And pumpkin spice coffee,” said Renee in a voice like she mentioned a dear departed relative.

  “Eww.” Harper scrunched up her nose. “Mocha all the way.”

  “So basic.” Grace rolled her eyes.

  Again, they laughed, but Harper’s ended on a somber sigh. Maybe someday, she’d be able to think of the normal world and not feel sad. I’m making progress. No way should I be missing freakin’ Starbucks when I’m happy to have food at all.

  “At least the farm’s doing well.” Grace smiled.

  Whoa. Is she psychic? “For now. Still kinda worried. One bad season and we’re still going to be in trouble.”

  “Try to stay positive.” Renee bonked her with the book. “Positive thoughts attract positive reality.”

  “Thank you, motivational office poster girl,” said Grace.

  “If only.” Harper rolled her eyes. “And I’m trying to stay positive, but I don’t want to be caught off guard.”

  “I hate how the war changed you.” Renee looked down. “You used to be such an optimist.”

  “I used to be a kid who had parents,” muttered Harper.

  Renee snapped her head up, staring at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just whining.” Harper took a deep breath, letting it leak out of her nostrils. “None of us are who we used to be. And it’s okay. We can’t change what happened.”

  “Umm…” Renee drummed her fingers on the book in her lap. “So what did people our age in the 1800s do for fun?”

  “Heh.” Harper shrugged. “No idea. But they probably spent a lot more time trying not to die than modern people.”

  Grace stretched back on the recliner. “Sometimes, they just relaxed. This chair is really comfy.”

  “Relaxed? That’s kinda boring.” Renee yawned.

  “Not when you’ve been doing housework all day. We’d all probably have been married by now back then, maybe even with an infant to look after.” Grace patted her stomach. “But they had books, going to the theater—live plays and such—drinking, gambling, I guess. But, I don’t think girls were allowed to do the drinking and gambling thing. At least, not without being considered a ‘loose woman’ or something ridiculous like that. Girls probably weren’t even allowed to have fun in public.”

  “Ugh. That’s infuriating.” Harper folded her arms. “We can’t let that happen again. We’re not maids and baby factories.”

  Renee raised a fist in the air. “Preach.”

  “Doubtful it will.” Grace smiled at her. “There’s too much modern society ingrained in everyone’s psyches. Our technology went backward, not our brains.”

  “Yeah, for now. What’s it going to be like when we’re old?” asked Renee.

  Harper eyed the .45 handgun on her hip. “Are we going to get old?”

  “Oh, stahhhp!” Renee fell into a hug and squeezed her. “Please, cheer up.”

  Yeah, because ‘cheer up’ will let me forget freakin’ having to kill people to stay alive. A dozen random memories of her and Renee hanging out played a slideshow in her head. Not even a full year ago, they’d both been innocent kids with no worries scarier than the SATs and college, and didn’t have to kill anything other than boredom. The worst thing imaginable for Harper had been not getting the perfect new laptop for school. Now, she’d lost count of the number of people she’d had to kill, not so much due to there being a ton, but that she hadn’t wanted to keep tally. It bothered her even more that she’d kill them all over again if put back in the same situation. As long as she had the means to defend herself and others, she would.

  Yeah. I belong on the militia.

  “Okay.” Harper focused on being happy to have gotten Renee away from the Lawless so she could smile. “Trying to cheer up.”

  Grace tossed a small pillow at her. “Try harder. Bad stuff happened, but we’re doing okay.”

  Harper caught the pillow after it bounced off her face. “Yeah. I guess we are.” She smirked, then walloped Grace over the head with it.

  4

  In The Moment

  Weekends made Harper feel strange.

  Before the world went to hell, she had worked a part-time job or two after school and over the summer break. Not one of those jobs had ever let her have weekends off routinely. Even requesting the occasional Saturday off because her parents wanted to take the family somewhere caused static, and even once got her fired—for merely requesting.

  She hated that job anyway. The manager of that burger place basically thought himself Napoleon.

  Having the entire weekend to herself with no obligation other than keeping an ear out for an emergency air horn call gave her a sense as though she’d grown up and gotten a ‘real job,’ like Mom or Dad pulling the old nine-to-five Monday through Friday. After that Brad guy fired her for requesting a Saturday, someone—maybe even her—had joked that the world would end if teenagers got weekends off.

  This particular Saturday, Harper decided to finally attempt being happy and enjoying the day.

  In not quite two months, the world would have been dead for a year. In not quite four months, her parents would have been gone for a year. That had to be enough time mourning. They wouldn’t want her to spend the rest of her life in a constant state of crippling sorrow. She’d managed to get herself and Madison to a place of reasonable safety. What was the point of doing so if she kept dwelling on the past?

  Harper hadn’t exactly planned on trying to have fun, but Logan showed up at the house and invited her out on a date of sorts. Given the state of the country, they couldn’t exactly go catch a movie, hit the mall, go out to eat, or attend a concert. They ended up roaming around Evergreen, checking out new areas. In homage to h
er ‘day off,’ she’d left the Mossberg at home in her closet, mostly because she had a .45 on her hip. The only other time in her life she’d worn a holstered pistol had been at the firing range when competing in mixed-discipline shooting that combined both rifle and handgun targets. Before the war, the only time she’d worn a pistol on her hip with bullets in it had been during the competition runs. The rest of the time she and her father were on the range, it remained unloaded.

  Being on the militia required her to keep a weapon nearby at all times, but she still half expected her father or the range people to yell at her for carrying a loaded weapon out of the designated zone. Walking around town holding hands with Logan and not having anyone try to grab, rob, or shoot her in a while worsened the sense that carrying a weapon would get her in trouble. Evergreen had slid into a bizarre state of being simultaneously normal and post-apocalyptic. One direction she looked in, everything appeared so ordinary she could almost pretend the war never happened. Turn the other way, corn stalks grew up from a golf course and people used candles or torches for light while armed militia stood watch.

  They spent a while wandering the streets, looking at—but not going into—apparently empty homes while attempting to guess what the people who used to live there might’ve done for a living based on the look of the property or whatever car remained abandoned there. In between talk of executives, artists, lawyers, and so on, Logan slipped in questions about how she was holding up. Every time she claimed to be okay, she believed herself a little bit more.

  Okay didn’t have to be perfection, it just had to be okay.

  Random wandering eventually brought them to the southwest part of the upper half of Evergreen. On a lark, they went into the high school building. In a way, she still felt as though she belonged there. The almost-year that passed since the nuclear strike went by in such a blur that the destruction of civilization could’ve happened a week ago. Entering the building triggered a flood of memories along with a mild spike of dread at not having finished some assignments the teachers gave her the day before everything stopped.