After the Day- Red Tide

by Matthew Gilman

  The funeral lasted all night. Her body was cleaned, wrapped, and buried according to the Buddhist Korean tradition. They left the grave unmarked so the Chinese would never be able to desecrate it later. Their fight continued on and the Chinese would spend years trying to cross the Rockies.

  Part 4

  Fourth and fifth year after The Day

  Chapter 1: Midwest United States

  After the death of DJ Crash, the men at Fort Custer started gathering information and tried contacting anybody they could. Dennis spent hours surfing the channels trying to get in contact with anybody. Eventually, he got in touch with a group calling themselves the American Militia. The group was actively recruiting anybody they could get their hands on to send as reinforcements to the west coast. They were in contact with a unit around Seattle who was “handing the Chinese their asses,” a group of active and retired Ranger units that joined together to put as much hurt on the Chinese as they could. The American Militia was working hard to get troops to the L.A. front and in their words “turn it into an American Stalingrad.”

  The guys thought about what they could do and what they should do. For one they were not safe on the base. It was a prime target for a military strike. And two, they were sitting on tons of supplies. They had trucks, hummers, personal carriers, planes, jets, and millions of rounds of ammo. All they needed was trusted people to get it from point A to point B. The question they asked themselves was how to find people they could trust.

  Not long after they made contact with the American Militia, Rock was doing his shift out at the security gate. He was rereading the same magazine for the countless time. Then, out of the blue, he looked up to find a group of people looking at him.

  “Hi,” Rock said. He didn’t know if he should pick up his gun or shake hands. He hadn’t really anticipated people approaching him at the gate.

  The people looked rough, dirty, and most of all tired. A man with short cut red hair and a goatee put his rifle on the ground and approached the guard booth with his hands up. He gave his name, rank, and serial number.

  “I have no way to verify that, Chris.” Rock said in reply.

  “I was in Iraq,” Chris said, he thought for a moment. He pulled up his sleeve and showed Rock a tattoo that he had on his forearm.

  “It’s for my buddy that was killed over there, road side bomb.” The tattoo had a bayoneted M16 with a helmet on top of the butt stock and dog tags dangling from it with the American flag behind.

  “Well, if you’re not one of us, than you have really a fucked up taste in tattoos.” Rock said. He radioed back to the base. Two more men came out and got the full story from Chris about how they had come to the base.

  “You took the bike trail?” one of the men asked.

  “I figured a military base was the safest place to take my people. Plus, there was plenty of hunting land on the way here. I guess it feels like home.” Chris said.

  The guns were gathered together and the group was placed in separate bunking quarters from the rest of the men. Chris was the only one in the group that was former military so they talked to him about what was going on.

  “Do you know of anybody else with military experience?” they asked.

  “Yeah, I knew a guy.” Chris said.

  “You know where he is at?” Rock asked.

  “No. But it’s not too hard to find guys around here if you know where to look.”

  The group discussed their options. Chris didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would abandon his people. Plus, none of them had been outside of the base since The Day.

  “Here is what we are thinking…”

  Chris finished packing his bag after double checking the supplies he needed. He had a warm bed to sleep on and three meals a day. He had no complaints. The idea of staying immobile truly bugged him. He had become accustomed to being on the move. Whether it was driving the truck in the Lord’s Army, or taking his people to the next place in hope of safety, Chris had to stay on the move because moving was life and stillness was death. That was one thought that went through his head. He left the bunk house and marched to the gate. When he approached he saw two of the base guys waiting for him with a horse. He didn’t know how he was always lucky to get a ride of some kind but he was.

  “This is Buddha. He will take you anywhere you need to go.” Rock said to Chris. “Some hippie asshole named him before he left the base.”

  “He is so big.” Chris said.

  “He’s only two. He’s not finished growing yet.”

  Chris patted the horse on its side. The horse turned and acknowledged him, nudging Chris on the arm. Chris climbed on the saddle, not an easy task with the fully loaded pack. Rock handed Chris an M16 with a bandoleer of magazines. Chris put his hand out and thanked Rock and Dennis for their hospitality. Rock opened the gate and Chris road out heading towards the Kalamazoo River Valley Trail. It was the fastest and most secluded way he could travel back to the city. Traveling the countryside became his job. He looked for the few guys that he knew from the military. Sometimes he would run into people accidentally and when he was convinced they were trustworthy he would send them to the base with a pass that he made for them.

  Every night Chris would check in by radio and give a report to Dennis about what he found. He would give a description of people he sent back and plans on where he was planning to go in the future. After a while it was decided that they would send out a truck to pick up volunteers so that the journey home was safer.

  Riding to the north, Chris came to a town that was doing better than most. It had a market and several shops that were open for trade. When he spotted the wine and spirits store called Odin‘s, he rode up, tied Buddha to the hand rail, and rushed in ordering anything they had available. The old man in overalls pulled a bottle of golden color liquid out from under the counter. He poured it into a cup and put the cork back in. Chris grabbed it and swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. He felt a slight burn when it went down and slowly placed the glass back down. A light tap as the glass touched the wood.

  Chris opened his eyes, exhaled, and relaxed onto a seat.

  “Whatever that is, I want more.”

  Chris and the bartender bartered for a while, Chris had a few things to trade. Finally, they settled on some old silver dimes, a new pair of boots, and some jerky that Chris had made overnight after shooting a deer a few days before.

  Chris was handed two bottles of the gold liquor.

  “What is this stuff anyway?” Chris asked.

  “Dandelion wine.” the old man said.

  “The weed?” Chris said.

  “Yup.”

  “I can’t believe my dad had me putting weed killer on those things.”

  “People were stupid. Have a good day.”

  Chris stuffed one bottle into his pack and the other he left out. He untied Buddha and climbed onto the saddle. Chris uncorked the bottle and took a swig. The wine was strong but full of flavor. The deceiving thing about it was that you couldn’t taste the alcohol. The wine reminded him of drinking Long Island iced teas before the crash. He didn’t expect to find anything like this now. He thought it would be more like prison wine or the experiments he would get sick on while in Iraq. There were two things he hated about Iraq, no women and no alcohol. Now if he could just meet somebody things would be two times better than they were before. The only problem was that it was hard for him to meet anybody before The Day. Now he was in a world where people pull a gun for saying “hi.”

  Chris took another swig and continued on in search of recruits.

  Chapter 2: Upstate New York

  Word traveled slowly at first, it was difficult to organize and get the word out. After years of people unable to trust one another from fighting over limited resources it was hard to suddenly switch gears. Amongst the leaders of the resistance there was a push for trust amongst Americans but it was slow to come. Trust was not something that was common in American culture before The Day and now it was nonexist
ent. Word spread that the Chinese must have been the one’s responsible for the bomb in Washington D.C. While it made some people fight, others wanted to run to the shore and kiss them for a job well done. It was no secret that by the time it happened most of the population was wishing it would happen.

  At designated spots in every neighborhood a communication board was put up for the resistance to ask and give information to the public. First, they asked for people that had working ham radios. A few days later they had notes left for them from people that volunteered to help. Some were chosen to send messages to different areas of the frontline. Others were picked for being able to transmit over long distances. These people were the propaganda machine. Asking for reinforcements they told the story of how America was being invaded and stolen. Some people snickered at this comment, feeling that America was being stolen long before the Chinese started to invade.

  During the crash much of the history prior was forgotten. Survival took over as the main thought. In New York State, a community was formed. There were stories on the news about a Chinese city that was being built in the Catskill Mountains. The theme was Chinese, all the investors were Chinese, and all of the resident’s would be Chinese. This community was quickly built and populated. It prospered when the rest of the country didn’t. There was a lot of friction between the Chinese and the surrounding communities because of the “unfair” circumstances. Nobody could figure out why the Chinese appeared to be unaffected by the current economic situation when everyone else suffered. What people didn’t know was that the large purchase of property before the crash was planned in advance. It was the setting stage for the invasion that was to come. Establish bases, communities on the mainland to welcome the forces and help with support and logistics

  After the bomb the Chinese in New Beijing sat back, lived out their lives and continued on until they were given the order to start their march to the sea. New York, a large populated city, would not last a year without constant shipments of supplies and food. When the flu broke out, New Beijing was under their own quarantine. The infection didn’t spread and the Chinese waited out the virus before they pushed to the Atlantic. New York was no longer the largest economy in the world, but it was still one of the best naturally formed ports on the planet. The Chinese Navy would have no problem moving their military through the Suez Channel with the help of their new friends in Egypt. Europe, now dependent on the economy, food, and energy of the Chinese, stood down while they moved through the Mediterranean to attack their former friends, the Americans. In this new world it was important to know who your friends were.

  Watching the fireworks light up the sky over New Beijing, Wang watched and joined in the celebrations. Handing out New Year money and enjoying all the food offered to the public, this New Years was the largest celebration that he could remember for a long time. He wasn’t twenty yet but he felt like he was man enough to fight in the coming war that would prove his manhood. Wang Jie ran through the streets as he enjoyed all the lights and noise. Knowing that the Americans were starving and dying around him made him happy as they were getting what they deserved and soon he could walk in and take what he wanted. He couldn’t wait though. The food wasn’t enough he had to get a taste of what was to come.

  Taking his collection of New Year money he ran through the streets to find something, anything that would give him a thrill for the night. His mother told him to stay away from fast women, they come and go faster than you can make money, she warned. He didn’t mind that idea. Soon this country would be his. He would have more money than he knew what to do with. Turning the corner he stopped to a series of bangs and snaps in front of him. More fireworks from the celebration, then he saw a girl, wearing a cheongsam, traditional silk dress, curvy and plump. American fed and busty to prove it. She was in her twenties and filled her dress well. He looked at his cash and looked at her. He found his goal. He ran through the street, stopped a few feet away and slowed down. He checked his hair and looked at his clothes. Pocketing the money he walked up.

  “Hey,” trying to sound cool.

  She looked at him and nodded. She looked away at the fireworks.

  “You busy, the fireworks are great this year.” Wang said.

  “Yeah, they’re ok.” she replied.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Wang asked trying to sound older than he was.

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Old enough to start the fight for New China next week.” he said standing tall and trying to impress her.

  “You are going to the fight?” she asked.

  “Yes, third infantry. Straight to New York. Then I claim my birthright.” He looked at her. “If you’re lucky, you can be one of my wives.”

  She laughed. He felt appalled. She saw his face and grabbed his shoulder, slid her hand down his chest.

  “No man would have me for a wife.” she said.

  “I would, you will have a grand palace.” he told her. “The red lanterns would be burned outside your house every night.”

  “House? You said palace.” she corrected.

  “Of course! The grandest of palaces.” he assured her.

  “Ok,” she said.

  “Ok?” he looked at her puzzled.

  “Come with me.” she said turning around and leading him upstairs. “I’ll give you a night so you will remember me after the war.”

  He smiled and followed her into the dark stairway.

  Chapter 3: Midwest United States

  The garden was growing well this year. After two years of hard work and some trial and error things were coming together and turning out well for John. His wife Fatima had brought a wealth of knowledge with her. While her previous profession was a doctor she helped in her mother’s garden when she was a child. The plants grew tall and vibrant giving pounds of produce for the family to store away for the winter in various ways.

  John cut the un-bloomed flowers off the broccoli plants and added it to his basket. He picked tomatoes and green onions. Smelling the fresh plants reminded him of how much better the food was now. John had some fresh fish waiting in the river. A cage sat tied to a log holding tonight’s dinner.

  “John!” his wife’s voice hollered from the cabin. “Be sure to grab some fresh greens for a salad.”

  John waved back acknowledging her demand and went back to work. He weeded as he harvested their food. He finished the basket for dinner and brought it to the cabin for Fatima to start putting dinner together. John went back out to find items that would go into the dehydrator for winter storage. He had built three boxes with recycled windows that were able to use the sun for drying vegetables and fruit. They worked fast and provided high calorie dense food for the long winter months. Fatima hung herbs in the cabin and let them dry before storing them in jars and cans for cooking.

  With the market that opened the year before they were able to trade for seeds of medicinal plants that they used for themselves and Fatima’s clinic that was open at the market once a week. The expansion of the plant variety was a blessing. The first winter at the cabin saw many meals with plain, boiled, or baked fish. When potatoes and other vegetables were added and filled their bellies, things felt better at their new home.

  After filling the dehydrators, John carried the dried fruit up to the house and placed it next to the door. He could hear Fatima inside cutting one of the vegetables for a dish. He almost forgot about the fish. Something else was grabbing his attention. It wasn’t that he forgot something, or there was something that he was going to do. He grabbed the rifle next to the door and turned around. On the border of the field sat a man on a horse. He wasn’t moving and relaxed on his steed leaning forward. He took his hat off and held it up as a sign of “hello.”

  John set the rifle down and walked off the porch. He still had a sidearm, his Glock, tucked in the back of his pants. He came closer to the man. When he saw the full beard he felt something familiar about him.

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sp; “I see you’re doing well for yourself.” the man said, a familiar voice.

  “Do I know you?” John asked.

  “Must be the beard,” the man said. “You weren’t one of the stupid one’s.”

  “Chris?” John asked.

  “How are you doing John?” Chris responded putting his hand out.

  John shook his hand patting his forearm.

  “Holy, shit, didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” John said.

  “Same here. After you left I hoped it would be the last time. Things got dumber and dumber before the end.”

  “Don’t they always?” John asked.

  “Ain’t that the truth!”

  “You want to come have dinner?” John pointed to the cabin. Fatima must have started cooking something. They both grabbed a whiff of something in the air that made them hungry.

  “Hell yeah, I’m starving.” Chris said.

  While Chris walked his horse to the cabin John went inside and told Fatima they had company. They had become accustomed to visitors in the last year as they made friends at the market and trade on the side became a new excuse to get out of the house and visit with friends.

  John collected the fish from the river and walked back up the hill. He quickly cleaned and gutted the fish discarding the scraps in the compost for the garden. Bringing them in the house Fatima put them in the pan on the stove and cooked them with herbs and some bread crumbs. Nothing was left to waste anymore and the food was never better.

  Chris sat silently at the table. The new job of visitors was to entertain the host. Chris filled in John about the status of various people they both knew.