by JJ Holden
Clark looked up at a few apartment buildings that had little damage to them. Drapes that covered one of the windows were moving slightly, then stopped moving a few seconds later. He stopped abruptly and stared at the building.
“What are you doing?” Charles asked.
“I thought I saw something,” Clark said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Let’s keep going. It’ll be dark soon.”
They continued along the road until they reached a tree line on the edge of the town. Clark looked to his right and saw the sun touch the horizon. Darkness was approaching.
* * *
He peered through the drapes that covered the window of the room he had occupied for the past few hours as he rested. The waning sunlight shone through a tear in the drapes and illuminated the large scar that spanned his right cheek. Being separated from his squadron of the Imperialist Army, he was using the building as a temporary refuge on his journey to the nearest army base. He thought of his rations of potable water and a sparse amount of food. Another night was quickly approaching in the desolate town, so he figured he would hunker down here until sunrise. He looked through the window and saw that the sunlight was waning.
Then he saw a fellow soldier in the street. The solider was escorting a man and two boys, perhaps to one of the nearby death camps. Then he saw that the soldier did not aim his rifle at his prisoners. Instead his rifle was slung over the soldier’s shoulder and he held a CB radio by his side. Perhaps the man and the boys were not prisoners at all. He heard of many defectors. If this soldier was a defector, then as a loyalist, he was in danger. He could not be seen.
He rushed away from the window. He could not be spotted, though he had to follow them. He grabbed his rifle and waited. No sounds came from the inside of the house. They hadn’t opened the creaky front door. He would have heard them if they did. He unlocked his room’s door, entered the hallway, and walked into another room. Through horizontal blinds, he saw them continue on.
He left the room and returned to the room that contained his remaining food and water. He stuffed whatever he could into his jacket and walked slowly into the hallway. He holstered his pistol as he descended the stairs.
He could easily kill them as they walked down the street. A few careful shots would do the trick. Only two had weapons. The boys would merely be target practice once the adults were destroyed.
Then he thought of a bigger payoff if they were alive. Perhaps he could use them to find a rebel base. He heard stories of defectors able to find the rebellion strongholds in order to join their ranks. He assumed this soldier had information he was acting on, but it was just as likely that he was roaming around without a particular destination in mind. He figured he might as well take his chances since the reward was coveted. For information leading to the discovery of any hidden rebel base, he would surely be promoted and vast riches would be within his reach.
He smiled as he thought of a mansion or chalet he would inherit from the state. It would likely have been confiscated from a wealthy rebel or rebel sympathizer, but he knew they didn’t deserve such amenities anyhow. He pictured himself standing atop a mountain of Imperial Dollars, gold bars and bullion. These rebels were his ticket to the good life.
Outside the building, he remained in the shadows as he walked far enough behind them to avoid detection.
He smiled slightly as he spoke beneath his breath: “Let the games begin.”
* * *
Clark looked up through the thick canopy of the forest. “We have less than fifteen minutes of daylight left in here,” he said. He could hear Thomas and Tyler slogging behind him, obviously tired from all they had been through that day.
But the day was gradually coming to an end. They just needed to find a suitable place to rest for the night.
Charles pointed up a steep incline. “How about over there?”
“That might work,” Clark said. “We just need to be off of this trail far enough.”
They climbed the hill, struggling to maintain their footing as they passed by a few trees that seemed to be growing at an angle out of the soil.
“Almost there,” Clark said.
At the top of the hill, they walked down a five foot decline before it leveled out. Clark led the way through the brush, and felt a few stickers poke through his pants. He plowed through a few more patches of weeds and brush before he found a small clearing, perhaps an old camping site used by backpackers in more peaceful times. He thought of the days he backpacked, particularly along the Appalachian Trail. Little did he know at the time that those excursions would give him a taste of life as an enemy of the regime he had naively voted into power.
He placed the portable CB on the ground near his feet and bent over to adjust the antennas. He stood straight again and looked at the boys. “You two get some rest now.”
“Where should we sleep?” Tyler asked.
Clark pointed in a circular motion around them. “Pick a spot.”
Thomas and Tyler walked a few feet before they both took a seat on the ground to rest their tired feet. Thomas lay on his back and grimaced. “I think I’m on a rock or something.”
Tyler giggled and lay down near Thomas. “My spot’s not bad at all, though not as cozy as my bed…”
“My bed was a race car,” Tyler said. “Well, it looked like a race car. Wasn’t an actual one. It was so cool.”
“I just had a plain old bed that didn’t look like anything special…but I miss that thing.”
After a few more minutes of chatter, the boys quieted and a soft snore from one of them could be heard among the noises of the insects that chirped through the night.
“I’ll stand guard first,” Clark said to Charles. “I feel a second wind coming on, so I’ll be able to stay awake for a while.”
Charles smiled. “I need to get some shut-eye, so that works for me.”
In less than five minutes after Charles found a spot on which to lie down for the night, he fell asleep.
Clark sat up and listened intently. The moonlight streamed through the branches and lit up the occasional spot, but otherwise, the forest was pitch black. The insects’ chorus of chirps seemed to grow in volume as the night marched on. His eyes felt heavy by the time Charles woke up.
“I’ll cover for you,” Charles said. “That’s all the rest I needed.”
Clark lie on the ground and felt soil on his back as he peered into the thick canopy above. Sunlight would soon break the darkness, though he needed to catch a few hours of sleep before the following day. They had a lot of ground to cover.
He slept for three hours barely achieving the coveted REM sleep he had desired for so long. Dreams were scarce that night, and the only dreams he had he could not remember by the time his eyes opened and he saw Charles sitting over the CB radio. “Nine miles due south of Frackville, you say?” he heard Charles say. “We will radio you when we’re close and meet at a landmark of your choosing.”
Clark sat up and stared at Charles.
“Over and out,” Charles said.
“Who was that?”
“I was broadcasting a bit while you were asleep and found someone about nine miles south of here that has a supply of food and water. They are looking for rebels to join up with…just like us.”
“Where’s this Frackville you spoke of?” Clark asked.
“Apparently that’s the town we were just in. The guy seemed familiar with the area. He said keep heading south, and he’ll radio when we’re near his hideout. He said he knows of some easy-to-find landmarks that we can meet at.”
Clark stared at Charles in disbelief that they had found someone so soon. Good news was hard to come by and he was suspect of any news other than bad news. Bad news poured in regularly so it was expected, but good news…
Charles continued, grinning as he spoke: “He said he has some extra food we can eat. We’ll go there and get fueled up, then continue south.”
“That’s good,” Clark said, th
ough he wasn’t sure it actually was good. Still, he had to go along with it in case the rebel over the CB radio was sincere. Perhaps this rebel was a shimmer of hope in a barren desert of atrocities. Or perhaps the shimmer of hope was just a mirage.
* * *
After checking through the dilapidated farmhouse, he had secured a few items in addition to what he felt was the most important thing of all: a change of clothes. Once back outside, he looked towards the tree line. He felt his heart racing from running in a circuitous route to avoid them as he attempted to find a meeting spot south of their current location. With this piece of the puzzle in place, he was able to rest for a few moments before the real challenge began. He looked out past the top of the trees at the sun that was making its way up to the apex of the sky. Another day in paradise, he thought. Or another day in hell, depending on which side you are on. He was comforted by the fact that he was on the winning team. The team that would eventually take over the world and make men like him wealthy.
In the midst of his grandiose scheming, he heard a voice through the tiny speaker of his CB radio. “I think we’re getting close. Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you loud and clear,” he said. “Keep going through the woods, due south. You should come to a clearing. Look for a large farmhouse. The only house in the area you’ll find, in fact.”
“Roger that.”
He thought for a moment about who he should say he was when he finally came face to face with the vermin. He recalled that he was known as a pretty boy before the war. He had a baby face, but now that face was marred. Maybe a non-threatening name would be best to smooth the jagged edges of his current appearance. A name like Bernard or Wesley would make him seem less aggressive.
As he pondered his new alias, he knew his old one would have to be hidden for a while. The name Victor Magnus would not be muttered, but instead a new name must be used when dealing with the rebels.
He saw two figures appear at the tree line. Behind them, two taller figures appeared. He saw the soldier with his rifle still slung over his shoulder. The man beside the soldier held a revolver in one hand and a CB radio in the other.
He reached into his jacket and felt his holstered pistol. As the foursome came closer, he was able to make out their dirty faces. He looked at the soldier and used every ounce of self-control to hide his hatred. Scum of the earth, he thought. You’ll get what’s coming to you after I use you for all you’re worth. There’s a special place in the concentration camps for the likes of you.
He stepped towards them and heard the man’s voice. “Hello there. I’m Charles, the one who you spoke with.”
“It’s a pleasure finally meeting you,” he said with a smile as he stepped closer. “I’m Wesley.”
# # #
TO BE CONTINUED…
IN EPISODE THREE
About the author:
JJ Holden lives in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. He spends his days studying the past, enjoying the present, and pondering the future.
Contact JJ Holden at [email protected]
For more information on this series, go to jjholdenbooks.blogspot.com
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Thank you for reading Life After - Episode 2. You’ve already made your way to the top of my Favorite People list, along with George, Paul, John, Ringo, Dean Koontz, Kurt Vonnegut, Stephen King, and Stephen Colbert.
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