Human Element

by AJ Powers

  All said and done, their haul for the day had edged their food stores into December.

  The next day they’d ventured further north, finding two more houses with fairly well-stocked pantries. The trip, however, had been more than thirty minutes on foot. Each way. Which meant more than four hours of their day had been spent on traveling alone, not to mention the breaks they’d taken just to keep their exhausted bodies from collapsing.

  “I think we’re past Christmas,” Hadas had said when she’d finished her calculations at the end of the third day.

  Aaran and Hadas had been feeling disheartened with the lack of supplies that they’d been able to find. When they had discovered a farmhouse nearly five miles away, they’d had little hope it would provide any sustenance, but they had been unwilling to pass it without checking inside. After picking the lock to the mudroom just off the garage, Hadas whooped with triumph. The room was lined with shelves of stored goods, including seventy-six Mason jars of pressure-canned food—from green beans to peaches to beef stew. They’d even found an unopened box of powdered milk, which had sent Aaran scrambling to find some cereal, too.

  In addition to the food, they’d discovered a few hundred rounds of ammo—a little over 300 nine-millimeter and fifty shells of birdshot—another tank-and-a-half of propane, a can of coffee, and a couple of sub-zero sleeping bags. Aaran wasn’t planning on getting any use out of them for a while, but it would be nice to have them in case a mid-winter excursion was required.

  The farmhouse was the score they had been hoping to find. Instead of getting a couple of weeks’ worth of food from one house before moving to the next, they had found a winters’ worth of supplies conveniently stored in one location. It had taken the better part of four days to lug everything back home. When Aaran had stumbled across a wagon on the second day, he’d been hopeful that his trips would be more efficient. But after tipping the wagon several times on the uneven terrain, he abandoned it, opting for manual labor instead. The ache in his back and the tenderness in his knees reminded him of every single step of the trek and had him questioning his decision. But now that they were comfortably set on food for the winter, he felt like he could finally start to relax.

  Aaran debated whether he would stay on the couch until dinner, or climb the stairs and fetch some ibuprofen to take the edge off the pain. It was a tough call, but the latter eventually won out. Aaran’s body popped and creaked when he got to his throbbing feet. He made a weak attempt to stretch out his lower back before hobbling over to the stairs. After catching his breath from the climb, Aaran shuffled across the room over to the bed and reached down into his pack for the medicine. Dumping a few pills into his hand, he tossed them into his mouth and chased them with the remnants in a nearly-empty bottle of water on the bedside table, swallowing the pills with a grimace.

  As he sat down on the edge of the bed, Aaran reached into his pack again. This time, pulling out an old wallet from a Ziploc bag. He stared at the aging leather billfold in his hand for several seconds, begging himself not to open it.

  He did anyway.

  The wallet was filled with things that had once had value to him: fifty-seven dollars in cash, a driver’s license, a biometric debit card, and even his high school ID. All things that were completely worthless now. But it also held one of his most cherished items.

  He flipped over the flap holding his driver’s license and stared at the photo on the other side. Tears slid down his cheeks in the dim glow of the table lamp as he looked lovingly at his family’s smiling faces. A pang of guilt reverberated through his already weary body like a gunshot in a canyon. It felt like it had just been yesterday that his mother was dragging him out of bed so they could get to their appointment on time. And Aaran’s sullen look in the photo was proof of the battle she’d been forced to endure just to get that family portrait.

  “Sorry, Mom,” he whispered as he wiped his reddened eyes with the cuff of his sweatshirt. Had he known that it was going to be the last time he and his family would step in front of a camera together, he would have suppressed the surly tendencies that came naturally to a fifteen-year-old boy, and acted like he actually loved his family—which he did.

  Aaran’s eyes moved over to his father; a fresh wave of guilt coming ashore. He thought back to all the times he’d griped and complained about his father’s strict demeanor, and how it “wasn’t fair” because all of his friends’ dads never treated their sons that way.

  “Well, I’m not your friends’ dad, I’m your dad,” his father’s voice echoed inside his head. Aaran had wanted to pull his hair out whenever his dad used that line. But as he stared down at the last tangible evidence he possessed proving his family ever existed, Aaran would have given anything to hear his father utter those words just one more time.

  Aaran grieved for each lost member of his family. Staring at their faces and remembering their voices, their laughter, became too much to bear and he snapped the billfold shut. The brutal assault of emotions reminded him of why he hadn’t opened his wallet since leaving home. And after the emotional shellacking he’d just experienced, it would probably be another year before he dared try again.

  Stuffing the wallet back into the pocket of the bag, Aaran got up from the bed and made his way downstairs. He walked through the kitchen and snuck out the back door onto the small, covered porch. He ignored the frigid temps and watched in silence while Hadas stirred the simmering pot of stew over the dancing blue flames of the grill’s burner. The twinge of guilt he had felt upstairs waned, and a whisper of serenity slowly took its place.

  Hadas jumped when she turned around and saw him standing there, but quickly recovered. She blushed when she noticed he was smiling while watching her from near the door. “Stalking me while I cook? That’s not creepy or anything,” she said through a chuckle.

  Aaran walked up next to the grill and put his arm around her. Enjoying the moment of affection as well, Hadas leaned into him for several long moments before returning her attention to the bubbling food in the pot. She pulled the wooden spoon out of the bowl and blew on the steaming-hot stew. Cradling one hand beneath the spoon so it wouldn’t spill, she slowly moved it toward Aaran’s mouth, offering him a taste.

  Aaran sipped the stew from the spoon, a melody of flavors working harmoniously to please every one of his taste buds. It was easy to tell that it was one of the homemade jars they’d found from the farmhouse and not one of the canned goods from a grocery store. “That tastes incredible,” he said as the hot food warmed his body.

  Hadas gave him an even warmer smile. “Good. Let’s go eat,” she said as she grabbed the pot and walked toward the door. “You coming?” she asked as she looked back from just inside.

  “Yeah, right behind ya.”

  Looking at the picture in his wallet had been a painful reminder of how much he missed his family. And he realized there would never be a sunrise where that wasn’t true. But as Aaran stood silently in the cold, listening to bowls clank off each other while Hadas dished out their dinner inside, he realized something else…

  She was his family now.

  Chapter 28

  Hadas gasped. “It’s so beautiful,” she said in awe, her big, brown eyes sparkling with splashes of color reflected from the morning sky.

  The sunrise was nothing short of spectacular; a tranquil scene that only God himself could have envisioned. The intense orange hues of the horizon gradually shifted to vivid blues as the sun climbed higher into the brightening sky. The sporadic, red clouds framing the picturesque scene almost looked like brushstrokes. Aaran was not a particularly sensitive person, but even he found himself captivated by the beauty of it all. The ambiance it provided was romantic—better than a hundred long-stem roses and a box of chocolates. As perfect as the moment was, Aaran was unwilling to express his developing feelings. He had to keep his mind focused on the mission. Thanksgiving was riding on it.

  Aaran and Hadas had left the house a little after five in the morning and had w
alked a couple of miles to the north. They’d crossed over a country highway and had walked into a cornfield nestled up against a long line of trees. Though the crops had been harvested a short time before the takeover, a few defiant stalks could be seen throughout the field, silhouetted against the rising sun. Aaran didn’t know whether they had somehow been missed during the last harvest or if a few seeds had sprouted the following year. Whatever the case, the corn was long past its expiration for human teeth. Deer, on the other hand…

  Though they were in good shape as far as food was concerned, it was Thanksgiving, and Aaran wanted the meal to be special. As soon as they’d discovered the two cans of yams at the farm house last week, he’d known he wanted to pair it with an animal that had taken its last breath a little more recently than what was inside the canned goods back home. Plus, it was an opportunity to familiarize himself with the Savage. Shooting some cans or glass bottles just to see what the 6.5 Creedmoor was capable of seemed like a waste. Not to mention, an unnecessary risk. But to bag a fresh buck, all the while testing out the new gun, was a fair tradeoff in his mind. Ideally, they would come across a rafter of turkeys along the way, which was why Hadas had the Mossberg strapped to her back, but venison steaks, sweet potatoes, and some cinnamon-sugar applesauce sounded like a pretty nice Thanksgiving dinner to him.

  As the world around them got brighter, Aaran spotted a tractor halfway across the field, and they began walking toward it. The hard, uneven soil made a simple task like walking a challenge. As they approached the tractor, Hadas took an awkward step and stumbled, falling to the ground. A loud popping sound crackled from her ankle as she braced the fall with her hands.

  “Are you okay?” Aaran asked worriedly.

  She groaned through clenched teeth before flexing her ankle. “Holy crap, that hurt. But, yeah…I think I’m okay,” she said, the surprised tone in her voice matching her expression.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  Aaran helped her back to her feet. She gingerly stepped, testing her twisted ankle and was surprised by the lack of pain. Deciding that her injury was nothing to worry about, they carefully walked the rest of the way to the decaying tractor, kneeling down beside the deflated tires. Aaran pulled the Savage FCP off his shoulder and rested it against the side of the rusted farm machine. He unclasped his CZ Scorpion and set it next to the Savage before he pulled out a box of cartridges from his cargo pocket and loaded up the rifle’s magazine with the 140-grain ballistic-tip rounds. He had never even seen this caliber of bullet before opening the widow’s safe, much less shot it. But it was easy to tell that the bullet had more than enough power to take down a deer, and from a good distance, too. So, as long as the optics were sighted in, Aaran’s job wouldn’t be much different whether he was shooting 6.5 or a .300 Winmag.

  He opened the bolt to the rifle, slid the magazine in and then closed the bolt, flipping the safety on.

  Then, they waited.

  Two hours went by without signs of life anywhere. For Aaran, waiting two hours for a shot wasn’t all that bad. He had once tripled that in a deer stand down in Tennessee a few years back. Waiting was just part of the sport. However, he hadn’t expected Hadas to be so patient. He figured she would have thrown in the towel within an hour. Yet, as she repeatedly scanned the tree line for movement, she exhibited her commitment to the hunt and was obviously willing to stay until dusk if that’s what it took.

  The relaxed nature of their hunt was harshly interrupted by the sounds of a truck engine bouncing off the hills in the distance. Their bodies stiffened as they both listened. They determined the truck was too far away to be a concern but just hearing it detracted from the otherwise blissful morning they’d been enjoying. Engines—diesel motors in particular—had become as terrifying a sound to them as air raid sirens had been to the British nearly a hundred years ago.

  The noise quickly faded, allowing Aaran and Hadas to return their attention to the tree line. There was still nothing, and Aaran was losing hope that he would be able to give Hadas the best Thanksgiving dinner she’d ever had. Even if he did bring home a deer—and he wasn’t confident he’d be able to—he was unsure if he could actually provide the delicious meal he had been promising her. But without the fresh meat, he was guaranteed to fall short.

  “You think things will ever return to normal?” Hadas said, her eyes still wandering through the trees.

  Aaran dissected her words and the tone of her voice for a hidden meaning. Was she looking for his honest opinion or some unfounded hope? Unable to tell what she was angling for, Aaran said the opposite of how he felt. “Yeah. I do.”

  As soon as the words left Aaran’s mouth, she tore her gaze away from the trees and looked at him. A brief smile flashed across her face as she saw right through his lie. “Thanks,” she said before turning back to the trees.

  Aaran never had mastered the art of the poker face, and today had been no different. Even if he had rehearsed the answer beforehand, his face would have defied his words. Still, Hadas appreciated his efforts to bring some much-needed hope into a hopeless world.

  “I must say, it’s not exactly a flattering look on me, but these clothes are way warmer than I thought they’d be,” Hadas said, redirecting the conversation while she looked down at the camouflaged pattern on her arm.

  He looked over at her, ninety percent of her body was blanketed with a leafy-twig pattern; even the ski hat had a similar design. “It’s not supposed to be flattering, it’s supposed to keep you warm and make you invisible to game.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have killed them to throw on a flower or two…”

  “Since when do you give a crap about fashion?”

  “Deadly doesn’t have to be synonymous with homely. My mom told me that.”

  Aaran looked her in the eyes and said, “Well, I’ll have to take your word about her being deadly, but if your mom looked anything like you, I suspect she was pretty hot.” His eyes widened as soon as the words left his lips. Did you really just say that, Aaran?

  A cracking sound in the distance provided a much-needed diversion from Aaran’s less-than-charming comment. They both forgot what they had been talking about as their brains shifted gears into more primal instincts. Hadas lifted a pair of binoculars up to her eyes while Aaran slowly lifted the rifle in front of him.

  “There!” Hadas whispered. “A hair past two o’clock.”

  Aaran swept the rifle to his right and confirmed the six-pointer inching its way to the field. “Watch out,” Aaran said to Hadas as he got into position, propping his elbow up on the front tire to steady his shot.

  “That’s probably two hundred yards, Aaran. We should get closer.”

  “Do you see any good places for us to hide between here and the buck?” Aaran replied, a hint of sarcasm dangling in his voice. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Hadas. I got this,” he said confidently.

  “I bet that thing prances away the instant you pull the trigger.”

  Aaran continued tracking the animal through his scope, looking for any sign of wind between him and dinner. “Care to make it interesting?”

  “Sure. My back’s still a bit sore from carrying all that crap home,” she said as she rubbed her lower back. “I guess I could use another massage.” Her confidence was off the charts.

  “Deal.”

  Aaran waited for the shot to present itself. The deer was near the edge of the tree line, most of its body exposed. But he knew firsthand that even clipping a branch could spoil an otherwise perfect shot from the distance he was sitting at. Patiently, he gave the opportunity more time to develop. His persistence paid off after a couple more minutes, and the deer wandered into the field, grazing on tiny kernels of rock-hard corn in the soil.

  He felt his heart speed up when the nostalgic thrill of viewing game through a few convex pieces of glass hit him like a crashing wave. He took a deep breath and lowered his heart rate as he slowly exhaled. He tightened his grip on the rifle, flipped the safety o
ff, and rested his finger on the side of the trigger.

  His crosshairs tracked the deer while it grazed through the field, blissfully unaware of the assassins hiding behind the tractor. Aaran had multiple opportunities to take a shot, but didn’t want to settle for anything less than perfect. With a hearty dinner and a backrub on the line, Aaran could not afford to blow the shot. Moments later, the buck stopped, giving Aaran a perfect profile view.

  Bingo.

  The 6.5 Creedmoor’s powerful blast rippled through the still morning air, the remnants of which could be heard bouncing through the trees. Just as the picture on the other side of the scope came back into focus, Aaran heard Hadas sigh out a few curses. He saw the deer’s lifeless body on the ground and felt a smile pushing at his cheeks. Savoring the moment, Aaran kept looking through the scope at his prize, which was more for dramatic effect than anything. Finally, he pulled away and looked over at Hadas. “Better start loosening those hands up. My shoulders are feeling a bit tight.”

  “Lucky shot.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

  Hadas wasn’t looking forward to making good on her end of the deal, but the fresh meat on her dinner plate would help soften the blow. “Nice shot,” she said, changing her tone.

  Aaran stood to his feet, a grin plastered on his face. “Thanks.”

  Hadas verified her phone was still on and pressed her finger up against the earbud just in case there was a nearby Webber or Sentinel to report the shot. In addition to randomly powering off, the battery had been draining faster than usual since plummeting down the steps in the office stairwell. They still hadn’t found a replacement—not one that’d worked, anyway—and it had become a top priority, especially before the spring when they planned to abandon their winter retreat. Until then, they just made sure to pack Hadas’s mobile battery charger for the longer excursions into the wild.