A Town Called America

by Andrew Alexander

  As difficult as it is to imagine, this town actually had it easy compared to the some of the cities. People living on the thirtieth floor in a high-rise, for example, had no air conditioning, elevators, or running water.

  Most of the population didn’t even know how to clean a fish or butcher a deer if they had one. People in years past had been too reliant on the food at stores and everything convenient being there whenever they’d wanted it. Eventually city streets began to fill with water, collapsing them and turning them into flowing rivers of garbage and waste.

  All this was compounded by the fact that even before the US government had collapsed, the storms had hit. For two years straight, they struck like nothing anyone had seen since Hurricane Katrina. Day after day rain and wind pounded the earth, destroying everything in their path. The winds were so strong that they forced many people to take refuge underground, far away from the coasts. The damage had been in the tens of trillions of dollars.

  The roadways, unmaintained for so long, soon grew over with vegetation. Plants and weeds broke through the pavement and tore the thick roads to pieces. Because of the lack of fuel, most vehicles were abandoned and rusting. Glass had been blown out of vehicle windows, their contents spread across the land in what was a never-ending river of trash and objects that people once had thought were important. Towns and roads were a maze of vehicles and garbage and in places were almost impassable.

  One year after the destruction of Brick Creek, it was a ghost town. Its only occupants were a few diehards who refused to leave. Rick’s cabin was now unrecognizable to anyone who had seen it in its better days. The roof over the porch was now on the ground. The windows had been shattered, and anything inside of importance was long gone, ransacked by looters.

  From the outside anyone who looked at the cabin immediately could see the garbage spread throughout the front of the house, and the toolshed had collapsed after someone had burned it to the ground. Most of the trees atop the hill provided firewood, but only a few still stood at the bottom near the cabin.

  The tires on Rick’s El Camino were flat and the fuel tank long empty. It sat next to the cabin and hadn’t been moved since the attack on Brick Creek.

  EIGHT

  Rick, Chris, and Shawn were sitting at the small wooden table, eating dinner. Deer was a real treat they didn’t get to enjoy very often. The table was narrow and just big enough for three people to sit comfortably. On the table two small candles flickered, lighting the room just enough to see for movement and to give a calming glow to the three people who were passing food and chitchatting.

  The RV was nearly twenty-five feet long and seven feet wide. Inside the vehicle the table fit with just enough room for a chair on each side. From the cabin Rick had removed a long narrow countertop, as well as a gas stove and a fridge, all of which were now next to the dinner table.

  Farther down the thin corridor was a couch next to a wood-burning stove. The warmth from the stove gave the small space a comforting feeling that helped ease the tension of being in such a cramped space for long periods. At the far end were three more rooms. Two rooms had bunk beds, and the other had a larger bed that could accommodate two people. The inside walls were made from cheap plywood, as the 1970s RV, even new, never had been a high-end model.

  Under each of the two bunk beds were storage shelves from the floor to the bottom of each bunk. Food, supplies, tools, and batteries filled the spaces completely. A thin set of stairs was in the center of the RV, across from the tiny bathroom that was big enough for one person to barely fit in. Unfortunately, however, they had to use the outdoors as their bathroom, as the RV didn’t have plumbing. The stairs led to a four-by-four-foot hatch on the ceiling that was the only exit.

  The three people sat in the room, eating their meal and trying to enjoy one another’s company. Other than small talk, not much had been said between the three lately. They all felt trapped and alone. Seldom did any of them leave the tiny, confined space unless they were gathering wood or food.

  Nearly a year before, Rick had found Shawn lying in a ditch, after he had crashed his Harley on some ice near the cabin. Rick had brought him to the cabin, where he and Chris had tended to him until he fully healed. After seeing the destruction of the town and the world outside, all three had decided to make drastic changes in their lives.

  The large hole adjacent the cabin that had been intended for a garage was now gone. Rick, like the cabin’s previous owner, had wanted a three-car garage that would give him room to work on vehicles as well as room for a shop. The hole, dug for the foundation, was near fifty feet long and twenty feet wide.

  In the months after the destruction of Brick Creek, the three had worked hard to bury the RV with dirt until only a small hatch showed through the ground.

  All three intentionally destroyed the cabin to try to keep outsiders away. The shed, on the other hand, had been burned to the ground by a squatter who had thought it was a good idea to make a fire inside it. However, the burned shed did give would-be intruders the idea that there wasn’t anything left of value, and hopefully any nosy people would just move on. Their new home was, for the most part, secure—far from luxurious but secure.

  In the early days, a few times people did make their way to the cabin, whether to look for shelter or to loot. It didn’t matter, however, because Rick wouldn’t take the chance on any unwelcome visitors. On more than one occasion, someone had shown up, and things had turned violent. Violence wasn’t what Rick—or any of them—wanted, but in his mind, he had no choice given the circumstances.

  Shawn argued that if they killed someone, there was no point in surviving because they’d be no better than the M.M. Rick and Shawn didn’t see eye to eye on that topic. Rick couldn’t understand his logic; he firmly believed every man had the right to protect himself and his property.

  The one thing Rick and Chris had kept from Shawn was that Rick had been in the military. They both knew that if Shawn ever found out, a permanent wedge would be driven between them from that moment on. Shawn wasn’t a supporter of any military of any kind. On more than one occasion, Rick and Chris had to bite their tongues as they foresaw a blowout from comments Shawn had made. Shawn was truly antimilitary and antigun, and he justified this by telling them he considered himself a pacifist.

  Not long after the RV had been buried, Chris was the first to kill someone. The intruder had been trying to steal food from the cabin when he saw Chris and shot at her with a rifle. After that she felt not only anger but also resentment toward Shawn. She never had wanted to kill anyone, but it had been either him or her. At the time she didn’t see any other solution. Nevertheless, as time passed, Chris knew she couldn’t change what she had done. It took some time, but eventually she forgave herself.

  As time passed she and Rick had found themselves in situations that had forced them to kill. It was the one thing Chris found the most difficult to get past in her life. However, truth be told, it also was the one thing she found she was good at.

  Rick had told Chris, “The first time you kill is the hardest.” For Chris this couldn’t be closer to the truth. Shawn, on the other hand, was less forgiving. After the first time, he made every attempt not to speak to Chris or Rick.

  Rick and Chris also had grown very close, and Shawn couldn’t understand what she saw in a man almost ten years older than her, someone Shawn considered a murderer. Shawn, blinded by jealousy, quickly had forgotten that they’d helped him while he was injured and that they had welcomed him into the cabin. Nor did he care that Rick and Chris protected and fed him when he refused to pick up a weapon.

  Repeatedly they put themselves at risk for food or supplies, but he didn’t seem to care. He felt they were throwing their relationship in his face, and he was an unwanted third wheel.

  Shawn was young, and Rick knew this, so he was willing to overlook his behavior and allow him to stay, regardless of how little he contributed to the group. Under his rough exterior, Rick was a soft soul who wanted the be
st for those around him, even Shawn.

  It was an early morning in October, and Rick was still sleeping when he heard the gunshots. He sat up and looked around the dark room. “That was right outside,” he murmured, almost holding his breath. Then he heard three more shots, one after another. Within a second Rick was up and moving.

  Chris was outside, gathering firewood. The weather was cooling fast, and a slight breeze chilled her skin.

  As she worked, she thought about the many circumstances that had forced her to become a woman when she felt she should still be a girl. Almost twenty years old now, she thought of Rick and her deceased mother and how she had shot and killed many people. She wondered whether those people had a families and why things had changed so quickly.

  She also wondered whether things could ever be the same again and whether she even wanted things to go back to the way they were. She’d been so unhappy before the fall of Brick Creek, and now that she was finding peace in her life, the world had fallen apart around her.

  Chris stopped and sat near a tree for a moment. All at once a wave of emotion consumed her. As she rolled on her side and curled up in the fetal position, tears poured from her eyes, which she didn’t attempt to try to hold back. All the emotions she’d held inside for so long were exposed.

  She sat up for a moment, wiped her eyes, and looked around to ensure Rick wasn’t near. She couldn’t let the one person she cared so much for see her like this. They’d been living together for nearly a year, and every day they seemed to be growing closer. He was the first person she had let in so closely. Nevertheless she still felt he eventually would lose interest, like all the men she had known before.

  Chris lay back down and continued to weep. The ground felt cold against her body, but she hardly noticed. Unsure how long she had been there, she attempted to regain her composure. Slowly she focused her watery eyes.

  After grabbing the shotgun from the open gun safe near the stairs, Rick was outside in less than a minute. Standing on top of the RV fortress with the gun in hand, he scanned the area for any signs of movement. The cold breeze against his shirtless body sent a chill up his spine.

  Question needed to be answered. Where was Chris? Who had fired the shots? Had someone discovered the fortress?

  Another gunshot rang out, breaking the silence. Rick, having been in the army, instantly knew the last shot was different; it was a rifle this time and not a pistol as before. Panic struck him as he sprinted up the hill toward the gunfire. He then remembered that Chris had the rifle.

  “Chris!” he yelled.

  One more shot rang out from above, and Rick knew she had to be in the deer stand. Something was wrong—very, very wrong—as she never would have used a gun so close to the cabin unless intruders were nearby. Even so, that was an absolute last resort.

  Chris had been lying on the ground when she heard the shots. Deciding to investigate she climbed the tree to the deer stand. Once in place she scanned the area when she saw the intruders.

  No going back now, just take your time. It’s no different than the hundreds of time you’ve went hunting with Rick, she thought. She closed her left eye and focused her right on the target. She took aim, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle shot back into her shoulder with tremendous force, but she kept control.

  Just once more, she told herself as she squeezed the trigger a second time. At that moment she knew without a doubt she had hit her marks. Two men were now on the ground next to each other. One she didn’t recognize; the other she had known since they were children. It was Shawn, and he was dead.

  NINE

  Just six weeks before Shawn took his last breath and watched the world around him turn to darkness, he had been away from the security of the RV for two days on a hunting trip with Rick.

  Deer was the prize they were after, and although fish were abundant from the lake near the cabin, their attempt at growing a garden had resulted in no return for their efforts. They were in dire need of meat and another source of food. Retrofitted, the hot tub collected rain from the roof of the cabin so it could funnel through a series of PVC pipes into the tub, where it then funneled into the RV fortress. As a result water hadn’t been an issue for the three of them, even through the heat of summer. They rationed it appropriately and had an excess supply. Food, on the other hand, was quickly becoming an issue that needed to be addressed. Their hunting trip could produce enough meat to last through the winter, if they found deer or other wild game. And only if they dried, salted, and stored it underground properly to ensure its longevity.

  By midday they hadn’t seen any sign of deer. Shawn, without a weapon, was there reluctantly, if only to aid Rick, should he need help carrying supplies, or a deer, should they find and kill one. Initially Chris was to join Rick, but because she sprained her ankle, he had insisted she stay behind. Chris had nagged Shawn to go with Rick until they both gave in to her. She desperately wished the two of them could get along, see eye to eye, and this trip might be what they needed pull themselves together. Chris had no idea that in only a month’s time Shawn would be dead by her own hand.

  The weather was beginning to turn, and the rain had started to come down, slow at first then steadily picking up. The drops of rain falling on the ground made the forest come to life. Birds flew in and out of the trees, and a few squirrels ran up and down the thick tree trunks.

  “Shawn, we need to think about shelter for the night,” Rick said abruptly.

  Both men had argued earlier and hadn’t said a word to each other for hours. The topic was Chris, as usual. Shawn had brought up the subject to ensure Rick knew he disagreed with the romantic relationship he and Chris had formed. Rick had made it very clear that their relationship was none of Shawn’s business and that he didn’t appreciate Shawn’s opinion.

  Shawn was extremely defensive as he struggled to hold back his overwhelming anger and growing hatred for Rick. He knew his feelings toward Rick really had nothing to do with Rick at all. He knew he was just jealous, but it didn’t matter. He always had been good to Chris, and now he thought she didn’t think he was good enough for her.

  He did, however, have a plan in place. If they wanted to shove their relationship in his face, so be it. If Rick wanted to steal his girl, he was going to steal the one thing Rick prided himself for the most: his RV fortress.

  The two men made their way to a single-story home at the edge of the forest. Kneeling in the mud next to Shawn, Rick didn’t have to tell him to stay put; Shawn knew just by the look on Rick’s face what he wanted him to do. Shawn moved into position, sitting near the edge of what once had been a home’s back lawn, which by then was nothing more than overgrown weeds and trash. He sat there as a lookout; his only function was to inform Rick if he saw anyone.

  Quickly and quietly Rick made his approach to the house. The tactical movement—a feeling he had long missed from his time in the army—surged through his body. It was a mixture of adrenaline and a slight sense of fear. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts.

  He stopped at the outside wall, took a breath, and focused. A moment later he was inside, clearing the house from room to room with an efficiency usually reserved for SWAT teams.

  After Rick had cleared the two floors of the house to ensure no one was present, he and Shawn cut the carpet from the living-room floor, and using nails they’d found in a kitchen drawer, covered the windows in the living room with boards to ensure no one would see light from the fire they’d soon build. Then they cut out the subflooring as well, until they reached the concrete slab.

  It took quite a bit of work, but in the end, the concrete foundation allowed them to make a fire without the danger of burning down the house. They used the wood from the subflooring to start the fire, and wood from the trees outside would keep it burning through the night but only after they made sure the windows in the rest of the house were all open so as not to smoke themselves out.

  The only sound was that of the rain hitting the metal roof of
the home they now occupied. Both sat in silence, eating green beans out of a can.

  While they were eating supper, Shawn began arguing about Chris once more. It didn’t take long for Rick to tune him out and ignore everything he was saying. Eventually, with a full stomach, Shawn fell asleep. Soon after, Rick, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face and hands, sat listening to the sound of the wood and also drifted off.

  By morning the fire had died out, and the house had become as chilly as it was outside. Rick woke up and sat up, taking a moment to remember where he was. He looked around the room and immediately noticed that Shawn wasn’t there, but just as quickly, he put it out of his mind as he tried to focus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was then that he staggered to his feet and began to wonder where Shawn’s bag was. After walking across the room, Rick found a note written on a piece of cardboard.

  Rick, you both can go to hell. When you see me again, it’ll be after I tell the world about your little fortress.

  TEN

  Shawn was lying on the ground, bleeding from the wound that was now draining the life from his body, just as Rick was reaching the top of the hill. Chris climbed down from the deer stand, and the moment her feet hit the ground, she raced toward Rick. She ran into his arms and wrapped herself around him. With their bodies so close together, it was an embrace neither would forget.

  “I shot him…He’s dead. Shawn is…”

  “Chris, it’s OK. You couldn’t have known it was—”

  Chris cut Rick off. “I knew it was him. He brought people.”

  Rick pushed Chris to a couple of feet away, and with his hands on her shoulders, he looked her dead in the eyes. “We need to go now,” he said calmly, and without argument, they moved down the trail with Chris securely behind him until they stopped near the tree line just behind the cabin. Scanning the area, Rick saw at least six more armed people moving toward the RV, but before either he or Chris had time to react, a wave of bullets erupted around them.