Undone

by A. R. Shaw

  “Must find them,” Wren muttered.

  “They could be anywhere or torn apart by the ocean now,” Mae said.

  “We’ll find them, or we’ll make new ones. We have to right some wrongs,” Wren said.

  “I would be perfectly happy we didn’t right those wrongs,” Mae said.

  “Girls,” their mother called to them. “You see this mess here around the building?”

  “We…have to clean this up?” Mae said, her mouth hanging open.

  “Not exactly. We’re going to keep it this way only a little neater and more convenient for our needs.”

  “What?” Mae said.

  “Think of it this way. Anyone seeking to loot for supplies would probably come to this building first. It was the old grocery store. Plenty of things to scavenge, right? We’re creating a path of least resistance. We’re guiding them inside the building. We may even place supplies inside but not for the purpose of taking them. Do you understand?”

  “It’s a trap,” Wren said.

  Her mother nodded. “Yes, in a way. One of many to come.”

  60

  Kent

  After Wren ran off to the market, Sloane said, “Are you coming? I’m going to get them started on a few things.”

  “I gotta check on Chuck.”

  “I really need to know what’s going on with that guy.”

  “As soon as I know, I’ll let you know,” he said and went toward the Sleeping Monk.

  Inside, the old man actually sat at one of the tables with something warm and steaming in his hands. “Why does this look abnormal now? Weird. How does it feel to sit down in a coffee shop, drinking something warm?”

  “Now? In these times? It ain’t right,” the old man said.

  “How’s Chuck?”

  “He ain’t right either. He smells less bad. He seems to have an attitude though.”

  Kent thought Chuck wasn’t the only one with an attitude. “Where is he?”

  The old man pointed to the back. “Handcuffed to the metal pole out back.”

  “Did he sleep out there in the open?”

  The old man shrugged.

  “Oh, come on, man. Did you give him food and water like I asked? A change of clothes?”

  “Yeah, I did,” the old man said.

  But that’s all he could get out of him at the moment. Kent stared at the old man for a while and then began walking to the door leading to the service entrance in the back. “Probably administered by a firehose,” he said under his breath as he went.

  When he opened the door, he saw Chuck sitting on the wet ground, slumped over with his back to him wearing a blue flannel shirt. And as he suspected, as he approached the man, he shivered in the cold.

  “Damn, Chuck,” Kent said, taking off his own jacket and draping it over the man. He knelt down next to him, seeing that his arms were handcuffed in front of him around a flagpole. “Hey,” Kent said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Dandy,” Chuck managed to say through cold, shivering tremors, turning to face Kent. When he did, he saw Chuck sported a new right shiner and a busted lip where there was none the day before.

  Taken aback, Kent said, “I didn’t do that to you yesterday. How did that happen?”

  “I guess I fell,” he said and began coughing.

  Kent reached for the cuffs around his hands. “Who has the key?”

  “Are you seriously asking me where the keys are? Hell if I know.”

  He was getting tired of the backlash. “Do you know why you’re here, Chuck?”

  He stared straight ahead, presumably at the pole he was chained to. “You’re going to kill me anyway. Go ahead and get it over with.”

  The sprinkling rain turned more insistent. The man was already drenched through.

  “Dammit,” Kent said and stood. Marching back to the back of the building, he swung open the door. “Give me the keys,” he demanded at the old man, who began fishing around in his pants pocket. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Do what?” the old man said.

  “Rough him up.”

  The old man slapped the keys into Kent’s palm. “It was because of him. He’s the one that recruited my boy,” the old man said with a voice edging on wretched tears. “Told him that way we wouldn’t starve. Now my boy’s dead, ‘cause of him!”

  “I can’t imagine how much that hurts. I’m sorry that happened to you.” Then Kent pointed to the back. “Did he ever hurt anyone? Did he commit a crime like rape, murder— anything like that? Did he torture anyone or was he just doing the bidding of the monster?”

  “He might as well have. My boy’s dead. I told you.”

  “He could have information we need. Don’t you see? We need to get him better in order to find out. But you’re slowly killing him. I can’t let you do that. Not when there might be valuable information inside that guy’s head. He’s driven these roads. Maybe he has a connection to Astoria. We need to find out. Can you stop trying to kick his ass when my back is turned for a while? If I find out that he is a menace, I’ll let you have him. I promise.”

  “Promise,” the old man said still with eyes glistening. “But what’s the difference between this and you killing the cigar man outright? I was standing right there when you did that.”

  Kent swallowed hard and jerked his head to the side once. “I witnessed him deliver two young teens to the gates. Tied up and gagged. As if they were supplies like the rest of the stuff he brought them. He even hit one of them. He was an imminent threat to human life. He was probably in direct contact with Astoria at the time. Chuck’s not. He’s a casualty of war as far as I know at the moment. That may change. In the meantime, we’re going to have to set up a prison for him somewhere, where it’s dry and not like a fire hazard, either. It doesn’t have to be luxury accommodations. Just try not to kill him anymore. All right? Get a few people together. I’ll bring him in here for now to dry him out.”

  On his way back to the prisoner, Kent remembered taking the few steps ending the cigar guy’s life. He’d do it again, just the same. Blowing out a lung full of frustration, Kent steeled himself for a physical fight with Chuck. Rolling his head left and then right, he flexed his shoulders back and forth, getting loosened up. Chuck was unpredictable and had a defeatist attitude a mile long. Two things that made for a bad day.

  61

  Sloane

  “We are not going to waste our time looking for those damn benches. If you want to find them, look around on your own time. The last thing I’m going to waste my time on is the resurrection of politics.” She shook her head at her daughter. “That’s just nuts. If anything, we’re lucky they’re gone. The one silver lining of the apocalypse is saying goodbye to political parties and saying hello to what really matters…the human party.”

  “Mom, seriously. It’s more about tradition. Those benches have been here since as long as I can remember. We would sit on them. Dad and I watched who sat on the other one.”

  Her eyes softened. “That, I understand. Look for them in your off time or let’s create new ones when we have the time. But let’s forget about the political connotations for now. Set some wrongs right. Call them something entirely different.”

  “What applies now? Good and Bad? Right and Wrong? Alive and Dead?”

  Pushing aside items with her foot in Sloane’s peripheral vision, Mae interjected. “I like His and Hers…but well, then you have that other problem.”

  Sloane closed her eyes and shook her head. “We’ve wasted enough time even discussing this. Are you guys clear on the task? I’ll be right over there at the coffee shop if needed. I’m waiting for the welder guy to come do some work in here when you guys are finished. Let me know if you need anything. Are you both armed?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. Mae deftly pulled her knife out of the side sheath on her waistband.

  That child of hers was getting scary with that thing. “Mae, no practicing too close to people. We talked about that. We don’t need any
injuries. Clear?”

  “Yes, Mom,” she said.

  She turned then and headed in the opposite direction. At least the girls were in her line of sight if needed. She couldn’t stand it when she had to be too far away from them in this world. Anything could happen.

  “Ms. Sloane?” a younger fellow said, running to catch up with her.

  “Just Sloane is fine. What do you need?” she said as she kept her brisk pace.

  “We found the welder guy, but he wants something in return for his services.”

  “Seriously? A fighting chance to survive doesn’t count? What does he want?”

  The kid stopped running next to her then, causing Sloane to stop and turn to look at the young man behind her left shoulder.

  “He wants the prisoner.”

  “What? What prisoner? We have a prisoner? And why do we have a prisoner?”

  “Chuck…he wants Chuck and he wants him dead.”

  She turned again and kept up her pace. The kid caught up to her. “What is it with this Chuck guy?”

  62

  Jason

  He’d fallen asleep earlier, waking again, briefly not knowing where he was. Lying on the worn couch. The lantern burned bright in the dim room on the end table above his head. Oh, that’s right. I remember now, he told himself once the initial familiar panic left him. Everything’s fine. He looked around, reassuring himself. The fever had come on again, not so bad this time, and then it finally left him. He’d calmed down enough not to clench what was left of his tongue to the roof of his mouth. That involuntary effort left him exhausted after a while.

  Where’s Wren? was his next coherent thought. He liked her. Her presence calmed him. She smelled good too. Then he saw the girl at the desk. Her back was sideways to him. Her jaw moved up and down as she held the mic to her mouth. Though he couldn’t hear her words, she talked to someone. Maybe they were all coming back soon. The little girl glanced at him and then cut her eyes back quickly to the front of herself. She slid the earphones off after saying something else. He couldn’t tell what. Couldn’t hear her words or make them out from her lips at that angle.

  She slid from the chair and came over to him and picked up the yellow pad from beside him. She wrote something down and handed it back to him.

  “Do you need something?” it read.

  He shook his head and wrote down, “Are they coming back soon?”

  Nicole shrugged her shoulder.

  “Who were you talking to earlier? Do they need anything?” Jason wrote, wanting to help in any way he could.

  He saw her eyes widen briefly when she read the words. Then she shook her head but wrote nothing down. She went back to the chair. She seemed offended. Perhaps he’d said something wrong.

  Hmmm…what did I say?

  Staring straight ahead, she sat there with her jaw clenched shut.

  This one does not like me. Keeping her in his line of sight, his eyes fluttered shut again after a while. He opened them once more. I’m falling asleep again. Maybe she’ll come around in time. I need to get better. I need to help them.

  Soon he could fight the sleep no more. His body was healing and for that to happen…he needed to sleep. That was what the man named Kent had said to him. He trusted him. He would listen to him. His heavy eyelids fell on the girl named Nicole sitting on the chair. She was staring right at him now. Not turned away. Then his eyes fell shut just as she reached again for the headphones, as if she was waiting for that moment to come.

  63

  Wren

  It took them most of the day to clear a meandering path through the debris. Wren and Mae moved the large pieces together, each taking an end with gloved hands, avoiding sharp edges of metal at times. Huge items like lost 70s televisions, a mangled metal swing set, a doghouse, an oven from a commercial kitchen, an air compressor thingy.

  “How did a truck bumper get over here?” Mae asked as they each hauled the thing with one hand on each end and heaved on a count of three into the middle of a debris berm.

  “You always ask that same question no matter what we’re hauling away. All kinds of things are misplaced now…even us.”

  “Where’d that come from?” was all Mae had time to say when a gunshot reverberated through the air, causing Wren and Mae to duck down.

  Instantly shaking, Wren reached for her sister. Then voices screamed and shouted and someone said, “It’s okay!”

  “What is going on?” Mae whispered.

  “I don’t know. Let’s get inside the market and look through the window from there.” They began to run at a duck toward the entrance.

  “Wren, Mae!” their mother shouted.

  “We’re here. Everything all right?” Mae shouted back. Wren tried to hide her trembling hands.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. No need to be concerned,” their mother shouted back. “Keep working.”

  “Everything is not fine,” Wren whispered back as they returned to their work. “Why do they keep insisting that everything is fine?”

  “Because fine is better than bad. Bad would be worse, I guess. You can’t just go around saying everything is bad. It’s not good for morale.”

  They worked in silence for the next few hours after that. Occasionally they heard arguments from down the road but mostly, they worked together in quiet unison the way they’d learned over time, until finally the sun began to languish.

  “Are we done now?” Mae asked with her hands leaned into the small of her back.

  “For now,” Wren said as they stood and looked at their day’s work. The cleared path through the debris seemed innocent looking enough. “If only they knew,” she said and then looked to the sun setting over the ocean.

  “Knew what?” Mae said.

  “What trouble lies within,” Wren said as the sparks flew from the welder’s work inside the market.

  64

  Kent

  “Come on. Up you go,” Kent said after removing Chuck’s handcuffs and then relatching them in front of him without incident.

  “My legs. I can’t move them. I’m frozen through.”

  “I’ll give you a hand, but I swear, Chuck, if you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

  “I can’t try anything,” he said through chattering teeth.

  Pulling him up by the arm, Kent said, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Chuck stood on stiff legs and rolled his eyes at Kent.

  “Come on, take a couple of steps. Let’s get inside.”

  When Chuck walked his boots made loud squishing sounds.

  “Your feet are soaking wet in those,” Kent said.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Without incident they made it to the back of the coffee shop and inside. Kent gave Chuck a chair near an intact railing. “Give me your wrists,” Kent said, expecting a fight now.

  Chuck held them out to him.

  He relatched the handcuffs around the railing. “I’ll take off your boots and let your feet dry out.” But before he even reached for Chuck’s boot, a man with a flaming red beard stomped inside the coffee shop.

  “Where’s Chuck?”

  Kent looked up at the man. His green eyes were flecked with red and they were wild with anger. “Who are you?” Kent said.

  Chuck said nothing.

  “I’m the welder your wife’s looking for,” the welder said.

  Past the welder, down the road, he saw Sloane talking to the girls and then she turned and began walking their way. Need to get rid of this guy before she gets here.

  “What do you want with Chuck?”

  “That’s my payment. I weld. I get Chuck.”

  Clearing his throat, Chuck said, “I know a Chuck.”

  Kent tilted his head and looked down at Chuck, sitting in the chair with his left arm handcuffed to the railing, and shook his head.

  “Where is he?” the welder said.

  “Right here,” Chuck said swirling his finger in a circle.

  Kent could have killed Chu
ck in that instant. “What the hell are you doing?” he said to Chuck.

  That’s when the welder lost his patience. He clearly didn’t know who Chuck was.

  Kent found himself with the welder’s hands clenched to each side of his chest. “Hey! Wait a minute,” Kent said as the welder then pulled back his right fist and slammed it into his left side.

  There was a lot of punching and struggling, grunts and groans. Kent had no idea who made more progress in the melee. At one point, he was shoving the larger man with all of his might in the chest toward Chuck, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sloane running toward them. “Damn, this is not a good time,” he said with a final push.

  The welder landed near Chuck and just as the welder lost all remaining patience he pulled his handgun out of the holster on his back waistband and in slow-mo, Kent watched as the barrel of the weapon ever so quickly came his way.

  Crap.

  But just as he was about to be dead, Chuck swung his legs up and around the welder’s neck in a vise grip and wrangled the weapon from him with his free hand.

  Kent’s relief was won and suddenly squashed knowing that now Chuck held the barrel of the gun on Kent’s center mass while the welder’s face turned the same shade as his hair as he struggled in Chuck’s chokehold.

  Chuck aimed the gun to the ceiling then and fired off one round. The welder stopped moving and Kent had no idea what would happen next.