Without II: The Fall

by E. E. Borton

  As I watched through my scope, the last two invaders begged for us to stop while they tried to make themselves as small as possible behind the useless trees. Two red puffs of vaporizing blood hung in the air as their bodies slumped to the ground. Mercy was no longer a luxury we could afford to give.

  Moans mixed with cries greeted us as we made our way to the five wounded refugees writhing on the ground. I was the only person Uncle Perry ever brought with him for the task. We used their weapons to finish the job, and the kill zone fell silent.

  It’s just the way things are now.

  Chapter 2

  Play Ball

  There was no celebration when we returned to town. There were hugs and smiles from family and loved ones because we all made it home safely, but we hated what we were forced to become. We were forced to take lives in order to preserve ours.

  The lines between humanity and survival are blurred. We weren’t at war with the strangers we had to kill. They weren’t evil people who wanted to hurt us. They simply needed what we have. They were starving, and we have food. They were sick, and we have medicine. They were cold and tired, and we have warmth and shelter. The problem is we no longer have enough to give. We only have enough for us.

  When our ability to produce and store electricity was taken away five months ago, Stevenson had a population of 1,800. Our numbers have been reduced to 400. One of those 400 is the reason why I’m still alive – and now have a life worth living.

  “Hey, beautiful girl,” I said, putting down my rifle and backpack in the lobby of the clinic.

  “Hey, handsome man,” said Kelly, hugging the breath out of me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “So am I,” I said, stealing a kiss. “It was a turkey shoot. They didn’t stand a chance. They’re all dead except five of the younger ones they left behind at the river. JD and a few of the boys are heading down there now.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I lied.

  Three months ago a psycho stabbed, shot, and tried to burn me to death because of the woman I just kissed. He was one of many who were taking advantage of the weak and weak-minded. He was a wolf in preacher’s clothing and was killed along with forty of his most devout followers.

  I lost count of how many times my nose had been broken. My face looked human again, but the dull ache in my leg from a deep stab wound reminded me with each step how close I had been to my death.

  When the power died, I was on my way to work in Atlanta. It didn’t take long for the cowards to start preying on the unprepared amid the chaos. I escaped from the horrors in the city on foot the next day and eventually ended up in Stevenson. It was where my Uncle Perry and his family, the only family I had left, lived.

  My journey north showed me the best and the worst in people. Witnessing the worst is what has been fueling my nightmares ever since the event. It took less than twenty-four hours for some to devolve into savages. They’d gun down or cut someone’s throat for what they had in their pockets or wore on their backs.

  Stevenson has shown me the best in people. They took me in like I was one of their own and have been kind and endearing since the day I walked into town. After what I experienced on the road from Atlanta, I didn’t think places like this existed anymore. My survival philosophy before I came here was to avoid groups of people and walk alone. I was wrong.

  “You and the boys did a good job, Henry,” said Doc, coming out of an exam room. “Thank you for that. How’s Perry?”

  “The usual,” I said, shaking his hand. “He didn’t say much after and went home to be with his girls.”

  “I know all this is taking a toll on him, but he’s the best man for the job,” said Doc. “He’s the glue that’s holding us together, and we all appreciate that.”

  “The groups are getting bigger and more aggressive, Doc. We need to get that wall finished.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Along with a long list of other responsibilities, Doc was in charge of the third line of defense for Stevenson. It started with constructing fortified shooting positions and barricades on the main road into downtown, but that wasn’t going to be enough. Stragglers and small groups were still getting too close to our food supply and storage buildings. We needed to turn downtown into a fort.

  “It’s a shame it has to come to this,” said Doc.

  “You mean building a wall?” I asked.

  “When all this mess started, we took people in who needed our help,” said Doc. “We couldn’t give them much, but we could spare a meal or two for a family and put a roof over their heads for a night. Sometimes just a safe place to rest was all they wanted. Even for just one day.”

  “This town has done better than most,” I said. “Nearly every place I came through from Atlanta was burning to the ground. People were going at it alone. People like me. This town did it right and pulled together instead of tearing each other apart.”

  “I bet those folks that died today would think differently of us,” said Doc.

  “They were coming to take from us, Doc. You know that. I’m not saying they were bad people, but I am saying these days it’s either us or them that make it. I’m always going to choose us.”

  “It was foolish of me to think someone, somewhere would figure this out and life would go back to normal. I wonder how much worse it’s going to get.”

  “A lot,” I said. “The danger for us isn’t going to come from the looters or criminals. It’s going to come from the groups like today who are starving and tired of being out there in the open. The dangerous people now are parents looking to feed their children. They’re going to do whatever it takes to keep them alive, even if it means killing us. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  Most of the population of Stevenson lived within a mile of downtown and worked at the mill before the event. Some, like JD’s family, lived farther away in the hills to the West. Almost all of them tried to stay in their family homes and defend them against looters. They were successful until the neighboring towns of Scottsboro and Bridgeport started falling apart.

  With rough, hilly terrain to the west and the Tennessee River to the east, community leaders of all three towns decided Stevenson would become the safe zone. Bridgeport to the north would repel looters coming from the larger cities of Chattanooga and Nashville. Scottsboro to the south would do the same for those coming from Huntsville and Atlanta.

  Supplies were consolidated in Stevenson, and it became a place where the citizen soldiers could come off the lines and rest. (Having an abundance of food, medical supplies, weapons, and ammunition is what kept us from being overrun.) The men and supplies were transported from town to town by the only thing left in our world that connects us to modern technology – our steam locomotive. It was built in the 1940s and was resurrected from the train museum. The Goliath that gave us hope, and was the lifeline between our towns, now sat dormant on the rails in the middle of Stevenson.

  “We’ll have the inner wall finished in two weeks, maybe three,” said Doc. “As far as the outer wall, my best guess is two months.”

  “Use everybody,” I said. “That’s our priority now. It doesn’t matter how much food we grow or how much livestock we have, if we don’t have that wall, we’ll lose everything.”

  “I concur,” said Perry, walking into the clinic. “The attacks are more frequent, and the groups of refugees are getting more aggressive. Not another nail goes into a house until both walls are finished. I’ll make sure everyone gets the word at the meeting tomorrow.”

  “I’ll make it happen,” said Doc.

  “I know you will,” said Perry, smiling at his old friend. “Henry, can I have a word outside?”

  I looked over at Kelly as she lowered her eyes to the floor. Whenever someone needed a word in private, it meant they were going to ask something of me she wouldn’t like. I reached over and squeezed her hand before I followed my uncle outside to the street.

  “This is the s
econd group of refugees that have crossed the river unimpeded,” said Perry, getting straight to business. “A few more days of no rain and they’ll be able to walk across. I don’t have to tell you that Nickajack Dam is still half closed since our little flooding problem. We need to open it up and get that river flowing fast again. It’s easier for us to engage them coming across one bridge than along ten miles of riverbank.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “First, I need to know how well that leg of yours is working. You need to tell me the truth, son.”

  “It’s ready for a hike.”

  “It won’t be that long of a hike,” said Perry. “You’ll be taking the train most of the way.”

  “Really,” I said, cocking my head. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “I do. I think it’ll do a lot for our people to see it fired up again. I’m gonna send JD, Tucker, and a few of the boys up the line to make sure it’s clear all the way to Bridgeport. From there, you’ll be hoofing it. Five miles to the dam, five miles back. Can you handle that?”

  “Not a problem,” I said. “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  As I stood there trying to figure out a way to tell Kelly the good news, Uncle Perry and I turned to see JD and the rest of the men coming back from the river. When they got closer, I saw that they weren’t alone. The scrawny kid with them was wearing rags and was covered in dirt from head to toe. He couldn’t have been older than ten.

  “This here’s Jack,” said JD. “He knows what happened today. He knows his pops is dead. He ain’t talking much though.”

  “Hello, son,” said Uncle Perry taking a knee in front of him. “I’m sorry you lost your dad. My name is Perry and this is my town. You’ll be safe here now.”

  “That’s what my daddy told me,” said Jack, staring at the ground. “He said to stay with the boats and he’d be back to fetch me later. He said we’d be safe and sleeping in a real bed tonight. You killed him and now you’re gonna kill me.”

  Uncle Perry looked over at me. I could see the pain in his eyes. JD intervened when my uncle couldn’t find the words.

  “Look at me, boy,” said JD, lifting Jack’s chin. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you here. I told you that. We’d have killed you down at the river instead of bringing you with us. Your daddy and those others came up here looking for a fight, and they lost. Simple as that.”

  “Take him inside, JD,” I said. “Let Doc and Kelly look him over and get him cleaned up. Where are the others?”

  JD shook his head and took the boy inside. I knew then that the older ones put up a fight. They lost as well.

  “He was hiding in one of the boats under a tarp,” said Tucker. “He tried to cut me with a damn pocketknife. This is his.”

  Tucker handed me a small backpack. I turned to see that Uncle Perry had walked away without saying a word. I was worried about him.

  I walked inside the clinic to give Jack his bag, but Doc and Kelly had already taken him into one of the exam rooms. I sat at the table and opened it. My heart sank as I held a photo.

  It was a picture of Jack wearing a baseball uniform with his parents standing behind him. They were beaming with pride, and he was smiling from ear to ear. Both had a hand on his shoulder as they stood at home plate on a perfect spring day at the ball field. His mother was young and beautiful. His father was tall and handsome.

  The deadly pocketknife, a baseball glove, a wool hat, and the photo of his mom and dad were all that kid had left in the world. I took a closer look at the picture and concentrated on his father’s face. I wondered if it was one of my bullets that had made Jack an orphan.

  Chapter 3

  Downhill

  Fear is a constant companion. There’s danger lurking behind every tree in the forest and every cloud in the sky. In our new world there are more ways to die than survive. When I awoke as if I had forgotten how to breathe, I knew it was coming. I wrapped my arms around Kelly and gave her a gentle squeeze. She was in a deep sleep, but wouldn’t be for long.

  Looters, refugees, or people looking to do us harm weren’t the primary reasons why the population of Stevenson had dropped to 400. What’s killing us is the weather that turned from extreme to insane a month after the event. We had no way to predict what was coming for us over the horizon, but Mother Nature would always let us know when she was up to something.

  I squeezed Kelly tighter when I felt the vibration in my chest. My skin began to tingle when the electricity we could no longer produce filled the room. The golden rays of the early morning sun dissolved into an ominous green hue.

  I could feel her body tense when the air pressure increased around us as if we were descending to the bottom of a deep pool. The atmosphere became a coiled spring, and I shut my eyes, waiting for the violence of its release. Kelly jerked when the sonic wave crashed over our heads, sounding as if a thousand trees had snapped at the same time.

  “I got you, baby,” I said after the first wave passed. “It’s just a light storm.”

  “I’ll never get used to them,” said Kelly, trembling and turning into me.

  They’re terrifying and loud, but over the past few months the bark has been worse than the bite. The green hue is from the aurora that always precedes the sonic waves. In Atlanta, the first storm was so intense it rained glass from the exploding windows of the skyscrapers. We’ve learned not to fear the light storms. We fear what comes after.

  Hurricanes penetrating hundreds of miles inland, deadly hail the size of baseballs, and tornadoes big enough to drain lakes have followed nature’s warning shots. We have little contact with the world outside of Stevenson, but the stories are the same from refugees we encounter. They tell us that people are dying everywhere in massive numbers because of the weather. They don’t start killing each other until after, when the food supplies are depleted or destroyed.

  “That settles it,” said Kelly, raising her head from my shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow.”

  “I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s the only way to get the river flowing faster.”

  “They can do it without you,” said Kelly, burying her head back into my shoulder as the second blast rocked the house.

  “I suppose they could,” I said, kissing the top of her head, “but we work well together. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Look, I’m glad you found camaraderie with the hillbilly wrecking crew, but JD and Tucker don’t need you. I do.”

  “The what?” I said, grinning.

  “I almost lost you, sweetheart. I just got you back and I’m not ready to worry about you again. Stay home and let’s do bad things to each other. Doesn’t that sound better than running through the woods with the boys?”

  “Much better,” I said, “but you know I have to go. We’ll only be gone two, maybe three days, tops.”

  “What about the light storm?” asked Kelly. “There’s no telling what’s coming next. Never mind that you haven’t had enough time to heal. These are all signs that you shouldn’t go this time. Remember what you told me about paying attention to the signs?”

  “I do,” I said, swinging my legs from the bed to the floor. “This is important for our town, and it needs to be done. Uncle Perry asked me to go for a reason, and I owe that man everything. I can’t tell him I’m going pass this time.”

  “You owe me a long life,” said Kelly, rolling over in bed. “Why isn’t that more important to you?”

  There is safety in numbers. It’s the reason those living on the outskirts of town moved into abandoned homes closer to downtown. Kelly and I chose a small house that was a stone’s throw away from the clinic. (In my thirty-eight years on earth, it was the first time I had ever lived with a woman since I was eighteen.) In a few months we’d all be nestled within the protective walls of Fort Stevenson.

  When the light storm passed, I stepped outside to our front porch. I smiled and waved at four of the most important and valuable citizens of our town. Steve
was a civil engineer and Barry was a commercial plumber. They were giving instructions to their crew and talking to the other two most valuable citizens, who were also the most colorful.

  Parker had just celebrated his ninety-third birthday, and Bruce was ten years his junior. They were the curators of the Stevenson Locomotive Museum before being pressed back into service as train conductors and steam engine mechanics. Those two are the men who brought hope back to the town when they brought the train back to life. There was never a dull moment when they were around. I stepped off the porch to greet them.

  “What the hell do you know about plumbing, you old fool?” asked Bruce, crossing his arms at Parker.

  “Hot on the left, cold on the right, and shit flows downhill,” replied Parker.

  “And out of your mouth,” said Bruce, extending his hand to me.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” I said, smiling at the group.

  “He’s pretty much on the mark,” said Barry. “We just need to keep it flowing downhill. That’s where Steve comes in.”

  “Through a series of cut-off valves, we’re going to divert all the fresh water from the tower to just the buildings on the inside of the walls,” said Steve. “It’s the same principle with the sewage coming out on the other side. As long as we’re creative about where it ends up, we shouldn’t have any problems with it backing up again.”

  “Good,” said Bruce. “That was a rough week.”

  “Yes, it was,” said Steve. “If all goes well, we should have indoor plumbing again for almost everyone in a few days.”

  “That’s gonna be a great day,” said Bruce. “Thank you. We’ll let you get back at it. We need to head over to Perry’s place with this young man so we can chat about our little trip tomorrow.”

  “I heard about that,” said Barry. “Our prayers will be with you boys.”