A Town Called America

by Andrew Alexander

  It had been a long road, filled with death, pain, and sorrow. All of them had waited for the clouds to part and a ray of light to shine upon them. Hope was all that had kept them together after that day in Brockton.

  Now finally, after years of searching, they had found their promised land, in Kentucky. After years of fighting, death, and destruction, it was in front of them. It was indeed perfect in every way, with green trees, a majestic view of the mountains in the distance, wide-open spaces, and an enormous white farmhouse with a barn next to it.

  The moment the three of them saw the house, they were speechless. The best part was that it was unoccupied, so no one had to die so they could make it their home. There was a well and land for cattle to graze, and security was easy, as the house stood on top a hill that allowed them to see for miles. There was a road about a mile away, and there wasn’t a city within hundreds of miles. It was also perfect for the child Chris carried inside her.

  Rick was to be a father and Chris a mother. None had expected it, but after all the death and chaos, it was comforting to them; they had created life instead of taking it away.

  They hadn’t seen or heard word from the M.M. or Billy since they’d left Brockton more than a year ago; it felt like a lifetime to all of them. Eventually they learned that the M.M. ended up burning down the town soon after they left. This place was their new home, however, and offered a new beginning. It was a chance at a life of peace.

  They all swore they’d never turn anyone away from the farm as long as they came in peace. None of them put down their guns in a naïve fashion, trusting all they encountered, but they did give everyone a fair chance.

  Their open, welcoming sprit was new and inspirational to anyone who met them. It was only a short time before others requested to build homes near their farm. As they didn’t turn away anyone who came peacefully, word quickly spread about the establishment of a new town. It was a safe place, where people didn’t have to scavenge for food. There was no need to harm or kill one another or live in fear. It was the last place of real hope for people. It was a town built on the principles of the United States. It was a town they called America.

  Over the next several years, America became a frontier town in every aspect. Wooden walkways and covered porches lined both sides of the street. Horses and their riders rode up and down Main Street, past a saloon called The Cabin. There was even a doctor’s office, a post office, and an elected sheriff.

  Cattle were in abundance, and the town was booming. The people were friendly, and it was truly a paradise, a place people could call home. It represented everything good and decent about the once-great nation of the United States of America. The town gave people a chance to start over and regain a sense of pride and dignity, and hopefully not have history repeat itself.

  When Rick, Chris, and Robbie settled into the farmhouse they’d discovered, they realized that even paradise has its share of problems. Soon after they arrived, Chris, one day disappeared without a single word or goodbye.

  Rick’s heart was broken over the disappearance of his lover and their unborn child, and he never fully recovered from the loss. Five years later Rick too said his good-byes to Robbie and their neighbors. The memories finally had gotten to him, and although he loved a town called America, staying there was more than he felt he could handle without Chris.

  One day he packed his few belongings, said good-bye, and rode off. Rumor had it that he went west, eventually settling somewhere near California, but no one really knew. As the years passed, the stories about Rick faded into obscurity. Like so many heroes of the past, he became a distant memory.

  Robbie in time became sheriff himself. Ten years after the town was founded, word was still spreading, and people continued to arrive. The M.M. was still out there, but for the time being, people were safe in a town called America.

  PART TWO

  THIRTY FOUR

  The ocean was a vast, beautiful expanse. How the water moved upon the shore, the fact that it was so perfectly still one minute and deadly the next—this was all part of its mystery.

  The family of four sat upon the beach, eating a late supper and taking in the warm summer air. The youngest, a boy, was playing in the water and absolutely loved everything about it. In to his knees, with the waves rushing at him one after another, little Egan never tired of it. Nearby his mother and father sat on the beach, keeping a close eye on him.

  Mick and Cara were good parents, and their life revolved around their two young children. Egan was close to six years old, and his sister, Jessica, was twelve. To the children the world was still a new and amazing place filled with wonders and mysteries around every corner. To Mick and Cara, however, the world was a cold, deadly, evil place that would beat you down and never stop unless you stood up and fought back.

  In the past that was indeed what Cara had done. She had fought back with a ferocity that had destroyed anything that had gotten in her way. But that was another time and world, a lifetime ago. Now it was her daily duty to ensure that she and Mick kept that world far from the eyes of their children.

  Jessica was a fireball who wanted nothing more than to take the world head on; she was so much like her mother. Although she was a good child, she was naïve and tended to rush into things without using her head first.

  As for Mick and Cara, they had survived years of death, chaos, and destruction. The world finally was starting to settle down to a fragment of its former self.

  Cara had seen it all and been through more than any one person should. Mick, on the other hand, had been a simple carpenter by trade prior to the global collapse. He was a humble person and a loving father. Cara saw his caring spirit as soon as they’d met, and it wasn’t been long before she fell in love with him, and they began a life together.

  As for Cara’s past, she kept that to herself; those days were over, and she saw no need to bring it up. She didn’t think of it as keeping secrets from Mick as much as having made a commitment to herself to move on. After all, that all had happened before she had met Mick, when she was with her first husband, who had left her and their daughter years earlier. At least that’s what she had told Mick. Cara promised herself that she wouldn’t live in yesterday and that her children always would come first.

  Diseases that had been running rampant were now slowing due to the decreased population. Gangs that once roamed the streets had long since disbanded, and although people, for the most part, were still leery of one another, they were beginning to try to rebuild. In a state of transition, it would be some time before any resemblance of the world’s former self could show.

  Mick and Cara had seen and survived it all, and both had their stories to tell, but things were different now that they had a family. They were in a place where they could raise their children without worrying about the outside world.

  The M.M. was still out there but far from their minds, as the organization never had come remotely close to the West Coast. They remained mainly in the East and the Midwest. The M.M. was nothing Cara or her family needed to be concerned about, or so she thought.

  The beach they sat upon was clean and free of people, trash, and any signs of life other than the birds that flew overhead and an occasional stray dog.

  A long dock down the beach stretched out over the water for at least three hundred feet. At the end stood a building that was now the home of the Cara and her family. Originally it had been a restaurant with incredible panoramic views. A favorite gathering place, it had served locals and tourists during its heyday.

  The structure had sat silently for years before they occupied it. Mick had given it a fresh coat paint, replaced some of the wooden planks, and renovated the inside. Looking through the French doors that allowed the cool sea breeze inside, one could see the effort he had put into their beautiful home. The good thing about living in a world nearly void of people was that everything was free if you were willing to seek it out.

  The home had a large, open floor plan with three bedr
ooms in the back. They had indoor plumbing, running water, and plenty of open room for the kids to play. Over a year’s time, Mick had sanded all the cherry-oak floors in the home and finished them in a beautiful redwood stain. Every window had long, flowing, white curtains that were just light enough for the breeze to catch. In the study, built-in bookshelves held volumes on every topic a person could imagine. Mick had acquired all of them from local libraries. He used the books not just to read but also to teach their children daily.

  Just outside the house was a 1968 Chevy El Camino. It had faded black paint and no hood or bumpers, but it still ran. Mick had converted the engine to run on biodiesel, which he was able to produce himself from corn he grew in a field adjacent to their home, so although fuel was scarce, he was able to make enough so they could use the vehicle when they needed it most. They used the car to transport sheetrock, paint, nails, tools, and everything else Mick needed to renovate their home.

  Every night after dinner, Cara held classes with the children. Just as in the public schools of the past, she required homework, reports, and exams. Education was the one thing Mick and Cara placed at the forefront of their family’s lives. Their children wouldn’t grow up without an education, period.

  The home was furnished in light colors Cara had picked out when they’d first found the house. When the collapse happened, very few people thought to loot home-furnishing stores. No longer did they have to worry about price, as money was obsolete; they just found what they liked, and that was that. It was theirs to take home.

  For food the couple had a very small farm not far from the beach. For years, at local libraries, Mick had studied everything from farming to making clothes out of animal hides. Cara had spent a few years on a farm, so that was helpful too.

  The knowledge from all the books Mick had read taught him how to fix a small, inoperable water pump. It pumped water into a water tower that stood forty feet in the air. After the tower was full, gravity caused the water to feed down to their farm and home.

  At some point after Mick had fixed the pump, he climbed the water tower and painted a large sign that read, I LOVE MY FAMILY. Although Cara found it touching, she thought it was a bit over the top, even for Mick.

  With water, as well as seed from larger farms they’d raided, the family had no problem growing tomatoes, corn, wheat, and a variety of other produce. They also had three cows, some horses, a few chickens, sheep, and pigs.

  Cara held school in the evenings after their chores. Afterward the four of them would sit out on the boardwalk, looking at the stars in the night sky as Cara taught them about the constellations.

  When Mick and Cara first met, she told him she had developed a disorder years prior that kept her from being directly exposed to the sun. Because of that they did almost everything in the evening or at night. Regardless they were happy there, and life couldn’t have been any better for them.

  THIRTY FIVE

  It was late in the evening, and the family was sitting outside near the farm after supper, enjoying one another’s company, when the peace and tranquility were broken with the sound of horses galloping.

  “Go to the house, all of you. Now!” Cara demanded, as she jumped up from the log she’d been sitting on.

  “Baby, what’s going on? Why are you getting so worked up? It’s probably just the—”

  “I said now!” Cara snapped at Mick.

  Mick took the children inside the house and told them to go to their rooms. He’d never seen Cara act like this before, which alarmed and confused him.

  Mick was nearly six feet tall and of average weight. He had jet-black hair that was starting to gray slightly as he approached forty years old. He was a strong man but as gentle as they came. Make no mistake—there was no mistaking kindness for weakness with him. Mick was far from weak, and although he’d never raised his hand in anger to his family, he wasn’t one to stand idly by during a crisis.

  Mick had seen his fair share of death after the collapse—hell, everyone who had survived did. The only reason he’d seen less of it than the most people was because he’d been working at a hotel resort on an island off the coast of Florida when it had happened.

  The resort hadn’t opened yet, and Mick was there working on a survey for a construction project. It had only been his business partner, Dawn, and himself on the island that day, along with the project manager and a few crewmembers.

  When the fall happened, the three of them found themselves stranded on an island in a half-built hotel with no power, no food, and no way to get off the island. Mick rarely spoke about the island, and never once did he say how he had made it back to the mainland.

  The sounds of the horses grew louder and louder as they approached the farm. Mick and the children were safely inside when Cara ran from the house to an adjacent road. She climbed up a nearby tree that hung over the side of the roadway and waited.

  Keeping a low profile, she clung to a large branch just above the dirt road. As they hadn’t had a single visitor in years, Cara wasn’t taking any chances. With her arms wrapped around the branch, she inched up slowly until she was at a place that gave her the best tactical advantage.

  When the two horses pulling a wagon came trotting along the roadway, passing under the tree where Cara was hiding, no one on board had any idea what was about to happen. Two people were on the wooden wagon bench, both wearing M.M. jumpsuits. One was controlling the reins, and Cara thought two more were in the back of the covered wagon, but she couldn’t tell for sure.

  Most likely M.M. scouts, she thought.

  Weapons were likely, but ammo was scarce, as most people had run out years ago. As this went through her mind, she thought the odds were in her favor. Four to one. Hell, that’s too easy.

  Taking a deep breath, Cara saw in her mind just what she was going to do: jump onto the front of the wagon and hit the man on the left once in the sternum. Meanwhile the one on the right would try to maintain control of the reins. She’d hit him twice in the side of the neck.

  The first guy is thin—130 pounds at the most, she thought. After I throw him off, I’ll deal with the second one and toss him out as well. Then I’ll pull the horses to a stop and take care of anyone in the back.

  That was the plan that went through Cara’s mind in the split second before the wagon crossed under her tree.

  Being able to determine a person’s actions with accuracy beforehand was a gift she possessed; she was able to slow her mind and take in information. It was a gift she’d secretly perfected for years. It was why she was an exceptional sharpshooter and why she’d always been able to take care of herself. The older Cara got, the more in tune she became. Year after year her mind become stronger and more agile.

  As the wagon passed, Cara did just as she had pictured in her mind, dispatching both men within two seconds and tossing them from the wagon. Quickly she took the reins and pulled the horses to a stop some fifty feet from where the two bodies lay. In less than two seconds she was out of the wagon and standing next to the bodies of the two men she had thrown to the ground.

  One was struggling to stand when Cara ran up to him and kicked him hard in the jaw. As she was wearing her steel-toe boots, his jaw shattered upon impact. His body spun around, blood flying from his nose and mouth, just before he fell to the dirt road, unconscious.

  Faster than humanly possible, Cara grabbed the pistol the second man attempted to point at her. She twisted his arm, and in a millisecond, the weapon was in her hand. His arm broken, he stood stunned. Cara pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. With a click nothing happened; realizing it was empty, she tossed it to the ground. She grabbed and bent the man’s broken arm behind his head then used her knife to puncture the side of his neck.

  She let go of his dead body, and he fell to the ground. Cara stepped over him and walked toward the man with the broken jaw; he was still alive.

  “It’s light out.” She kicked him in the side of the head, killing him instantly.

&nb
sp; In a flash Cara was at the covered wagon, pulling the heavy canvas aside only to find it empty.

  “Damn, I still have it,” she said in a deep, unnatural voice as her tongue slowly broke from her mouth and licked the splattered blood from her lips.

  Mick, curious as to what was happening, had walked to the road and, from behind a bush, witnessed everything she’d just done. He slowly moved closer to Cara, who was kneeling over one of the two dead bodies. Grabbing a handful of hair from the second man’s body, she pulled his head back toward hers and slammed her face into the side of his neck. She sank her sharp teeth into his flesh before placing her mouth over the open wound.

  In horror Mick watched as Cara lapped up the warm blood. The sensation exhilarated her. Every drop felt like pure power as it drizzled down the back of her throat, revitalizing her. She slammed the man’s head against the ground before she pulled it back to consume any remaining blood.

  Unable to comprehend the scene before him, Mick’s mind was at a standstill. He was in complete disbelief Cara could commit such a crime against humanity. He told himself that it was dark outside, and because there was no light other than from the moon, he was actually looking at something else. His eyes somehow must be playing tricks on him. He saw Cara’s eyes were black, so it had to do something with the darkness.

  As he inched forward, crouching for a few more steps, he thought, that still doesn’t explain her face. Cara’s face looked different; it was subtle, but the difference was there. Her skin had a very light glow to it, almost as if it were slightly transparent, like the phosphorescence of the ocean. A few seconds later, he saw that strange glow made the veins on her face and body appear to have an energy of their own.