The After Days Trilogy

by Scott Medbury

  “I did the best I could for them. I know it was wrong to cooperate with the Chinese, but we had to make the best of a bad situation ... ” he said, sounding slightly defensive.

  “I know you did. You don’t need to justify it to me, Jamal. I think you did the right thing. I’m sure if you hadn’t, some of them wouldn’t be here right now.”

  He nodded.

  Jamal seemed happy to maintain the role of authority over the kids who had been in his charge and I was more than happy for him to continue in it for the time being. Earlier that day, when we had first begun clearing the barn, I offered him a bed in the farmhouse. He had refused, saying he wouldn’t feel right leaving the kids in the barn while he slept in relative luxury. I was coming to respect him more and more each day, and I definitely felt better knowing he would be there to supervise.

  12

  The boys did indeed do a good job on Luke’s prosthetic. He unveiled it that night. It was just our original group in the kitchen, along with Danny who had said yes to my offer of a place in the house, and Jamal, who was about to head down to the barn for the night. Everyone had eaten by that time and the rest of the new arrivals had already retired to the barn.

  An exhausted looking Ben came through the door first. With the poor selection of tools and equipment they’d had, it had literally taken the entire day to craft it to Luke’s specifications. The English lad’s face and hands were filthy, but his smile shone like that of a proud father.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Captain Luke Hook!” he announced flamboyantly, directing our gazes to the doorway with his blackened hands.

  Luke entered and I was shocked by his appearance. Under the dirt, his face was deathly pale and a sheen of sweat covered his brow. He sheepishly raised his arm in the air displaying the wicked looking hook, turning it this way and that for us to admire.

  There were suitable noises of appreciation from all of us and it brought a brief smile to his face.

  “How does it feel?” asked Paul.

  “It hurts like a bitch. I think it’s going to take a while to get used to.” He looked like he was going to say something more about it, but instead a look of pain crossed his face and he turned abruptly and left the room.

  “Excuse me, I have to take it off,” he called over his shoulder. I began to follow him, but Brooke beat me to it, concern etched on her face.

  “His stump isn’t quite healed yet,” explained Ben. “It will take a bit of time for the scar tissue to toughen. He’ll be good then.”

  Ben was right. Luke had a really tough few days and I was thankful Paul had brought back the fresh supply of painkillers from Plymouth.

  After a week, Luke was wearing the hook intermittently. From the look on his face when he thought no one was watching, it was clear that it caused him pain.

  “He won’t take the painkillers anymore,” said Brooke, when I asked her about it. “Can you talk to him? He might listen to you.”

  He didn’t.

  “No, man, that prescription shit is really addictive; I’ve just got to get used to it.”

  I admired his stoicism. Brooke called it stubbornness. Their relationship had developed into much more than a friendship by then, but Luke wouldn’t be swayed to take any more painkillers, not even by her.

  13

  Even as my own relationship with Indigo strengthened and we grew closer, it was interesting to watch our little community begin to develop and the subsequent relationships form. Indigo and I and Luke and Brooke were the only ‘official’ relationships of our original group, but Ben was spending a lot of time with a girl we had rescued from Plymouth. Her name was Sarah and she was a good match for him. She was a tall, blonde girl, with smarts and a wicked sense of humor. She was originally from Canada, and they took delight in teasing us Americans every chance they got.

  None of us talked much about our time in the Drake Mountain facility. When the conversation did turn in that direction, we avoided certain topics because of the dark connotations for Ava and, by connection, Paul.

  One night, when we had some rare alone time, I asked Indigo about Ava and her pregnancy. It wasn’t long after our first Thanksgiving and Ava was now over seven months pregnant as far as we could estimate. She had only recently opened up to Indigo and Brooke about what had taken place.

  “Even though she’s pretty private about it, I think as the birth gets closer, she’s been getting more and more worried, so she gravitated towards us a bit.”

  It made sense. Even though both Indigo and Brooke were just over a year older than Ava, they were the closest thing to mother figures that she had.

  “She told us one day when we went for a walk. It was like she was confessing and I think she felt better afterwards. Thank God it was nothing like I had imagined. Actually, I was kind of relieved when she told us. It was all very clinical apparently.

  “They gave her something to drink which made her drowsy and took her to an operating room where they put her to sleep. Apparently, the nurses and doctors were very nice to her, but she was still upset, obviously, and no one would tell her why she was there. Anyway, when she woke up, she didn’t feel any different, but was frightened out of her mind just by not knowing.

  “She went back to the female population after a few days and had begun to put it out of her mind when another girl told her what they had done to her. Naturally, she was upset ... really upset, and they had to sedate her several times. In the end, I think the issue with her not talking to Paul was about the shame of it more than anything else. She felt like it was her fault, like she should have fought them.”

  I shook my head. The bastards.

  “Anyway, all she could do was hope the experiment had failed. The checkups began almost immediately. Every week, like clockwork. When she missed her period, she wanted to know for sure and hounded them into telling her. After six weeks, they finally admitted she was pregnant. Apparently, she flew into a rage and threatened to kill herself and the baby and had to be sedated again.

  “After that, they threatened her that if she ever did anything to harm herself or the baby, they would shoot Paul in the head. The threat worked and she behaved, but her shame and depression kicked in even harder.

  “I told her what happened wasn’t her fault,” Indigo said, wiping a tear from her eye. “And I think by the end of our talk, she began to believe it. I’m so angry, Isaac. I hope the Chinese obliterated Drake Mountain and the Professor. They might have talked themselves into believing it was scientific and for the greater good, but what they did was violate and nearly destroy an innocent girl.”

  We held each other for a long time.

  Perhaps it was a sign, perhaps just coincidence, but two months later, on the 4th of July, Ava gave birth to a healthy little girl. She named her Peace. The circumstances surrounding her conception were forgotten in the joy of that moment and we welcomed our first baby into the Valley. The birth of Peace seemed to herald a new kind of beginning for all of us and we celebrated accordingly with a subdued, but enthusiastic, party.

  The baby’s arrival was cathartic for Ava. She’d had grave misgivings as she came to the end of her pregnancy, worried primarily that she would not love the baby. In fact, we had all been worried, so much so that Indigo had insisted if Ava couldn’t cope, she would take care of the baby.

  Paul was even more concerned, confessing to me one night he thought he also would have difficulty loving the baby. In the end, none of us needed to have worried. After the birth of Peace, Ava was transformed. She was a devoted mother from the moment her crying baby girl was put in her arms.

  Paul was the same. He burst into tears when we went in to see Ava just a few minutes after the birth and loved his niece without reservation from the moment he laid eyes on her. As we watched the tender scene in front of us, I felt Indigo’s warm hand find mine and she looked up into my eyes, as happy as I’d ever seen her. Of course, I was too thick to realize what that look meant.

  14


  By the time Peace was born, Luke wore his hook full-time and would disappear every morning to a big oak tree at the other end of the farm for what he called his ‘workout at the end of the world.’

  One September morning, just as the mornings began to feel a little cooler, I was at loose ends and decided to go and see exactly what he was up to. In the distance, I could see him shirtless, darting back and forth at the tree, swinging his hook in quick movements. He had grown his hair long and, with each violent blow, his dark red locks were tossed around his shoulders.

  He was an impressive sight. He had bulked up since we had arrived in the Valley, which was not an easy feat given the rations we lived on, and the roped muscle of his shoulders and back rippled under his skin as he attacked the tree with his hook again and again.

  I knew he was supplementing his diet with the protein powder he had requested on one of the supply runs to Plymouth and had also been doing lots of heavy lifting, jogging, as well as his daily tree torture routine. The results were evident and, coupled with the fact he’d also outgrown me height-wise by at least an inch, when I stood next to him nowadays I felt a little inadequate.

  The solid oak’s trunk was scarred with shallow gashes, the fresher wounds displaying the deep honey color of the wood beneath.

  “I think he surrenders,” I said, after Luke performed another flurry of blows, sending chips of bark and timber flying around him.

  He turned, his chest heaving and sweat pouring from his brow.

  “Don’t worry, he can take it,” my friend smiled, and patted the scarred trunk of the big tree. “Isaac, meet Whipping Boy.”

  “Holey moly, dude, you’ve done some damage.”

  “Nah, they’re just battle scars. Won’t kill him. Want to see my routine?”

  “Sure.”

  Luke crouched in front of the tree before unleashing an attack. The movement of his hook was economical as he attacked it with short, sharp movements which allowed him to rip into the bark an inch or two without actually getting the hook caught. I could hear him grunting with exertion as his attack became more frenzied.

  “Killing blow!” he yelled over his shoulder, and his next swing was much heavier than the previous.

  The blow obviously didn’t work out the way he intended. The hook bit into the timber with a thud, but his arm continued through its arc while the hook stayed where it was, embedded in the wood.

  There was a snapping sound as a strap broke and Luke’s arm came free of the harness. He nearly toppled over before regaining his balance and looking at his stump, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

  I was horrified initially, but the fact that he wasn’t hurt, combined with the look on his face, soon had me trying to suppress a giggle. It wasn’t to be and, try as I might to contain my mirth, it was too much and slowly but surely my laughter bubbled forth. Luke, far from being offended, joined in. Before long, we were both rolling on the sweet, long grass, gales of laughter wracking us.

  When our amusement finally abated, we stayed on our backs looking at the blue sky through the gnarled branches of the oak.

  “Things are working out okay for us,” he said.

  “Yeah. I don’t know how we managed to do it, but we did.”

  “Determination, with a little bit of luck and good management.”

  “A lot of good luck. The winter will be tough. We have to be prepared for some losses.”

  By that time, our population numbered sixty-seven. In addition to Peace, we had accepted three more groups of refugees into our community. They were all skinny, hungry kids who had had a tough time and gratefully accepted our rules in order to join the community.

  “I don’t know, dude,” Luke said. “I think we’ll be alright. The shelters we’ve built are sturdy and we’ve managed to insulate them really well. We’ve got loads of firewood and plenty of food in the stores.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  The latest group of refugees had been brought in only a week before by Jamal, who had been leading a foraging team on a supply run to a little town called Center Harbor. It had been a small tourist town with a supermarket and turned out to be a real treasure trove for food and supplies.

  In the supermarket, they had stumbled upon a group of eight kids led by two brothers. After a tense standoff which reminded me a lot of how Luke and I had met Ben and Brooke, the other group had laid down their weapons. Our guys had simply been better armed and there really was no other option. I was thankful for Jamal’s calm nature; if he hadn’t been leading our group, its possible things may have turned out badly for everybody.

  During our debriefing of the new arrivals, we found out they had good reason to be wary. The brothers leading the group, Joe and Brock, told Luke and I they had numbered over thirty just a month ago, but had clashed with another gang of about the same size.

  “We were in Plymouth and were on our way out,” the younger brother, Brock, said. “Everything there had been pretty much picked over. We were on foot and were about to go under the I-93 overpass when we heard them coming. They were in cars and on bikes. We didn’t really have time to hide or anything. Besides, back then we made a habit of talking to people and joining together when we could. That’s how we got so big in the first place.

  “Anyway, when they pulled up, I could tell there was something off about the leader. But I like to, you know, give people the benefit of the doubt.”

  I could see tears in his eyes and his brother put a hand on Brock’s shoulder.

  “Anyway, this guy got out of his Hummer and our friend, Brett, he was like our unofficial leader, waved to him and went over to introduce himself. The guy yelled at him, ‘Did I give you permission to speak to me?’ Then he ... then he ... he fucking shot him in the face.”

  Brock couldn’t go on; he was too upset at the memory. We gave the two boys a few minutes to gather themselves and then I asked the question I think I already knew the answer to.

  “What did he look like?” I asked Joe, a sick feeling in my guts.

  “He was ... he was tall, good-looking, and he had these crazy blue eyes.”

  Luke and I looked at each other.

  After Brett was shot, their group had scattered. It had been a cold blooded massacre, but Brock, Joe, and a few of the others managed to escape into nearby trees.

  “I don’t know how many survived, but we managed to make it out by going deeper into the forest. If we hadn’t, we’d be dead, too.”

  “Why didn’t you fight?” Luke asked, bluntly.

  I wanted to cuff him over the ear but the brothers didn’t seem offended.

  “We were unarmed,” Joe said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Brett made a rule we would never carry guns. He said that’s what had gotten the world into the mess it was in in the first place. Once we escaped, well, we changed that rule. We saw that group again a few days later. We were resting on a hill. We were travelling cross-country then and avoiding roads altogether at that point. Anyway, the hill overlooked a small town. We could see that group had set up a camp in the football field of a school. It wasn’t a huge group, but there were definitely more kids than just the ones we saw the first time. They had tents and stuff, with a big bonfire in the middle of the field.”

  “Are you sure it was them? Do you remember the name of the town?”

  “Ashland. And, yeah, it was them. I went down for a closer look. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Near the bonfire, in the middle of the field, they were hanging people. I saw Freddie, one of the kids from our group. They must have—”

  “Fuck!” yelled Brock, startling me. “You didn’t tell me that. Jesus, poor Freddie.”

  “Sorry,” said Joe. “I thought everyone had been through enough by then. It seemed better to keep it to myself.”

  “Did you see the leader? The guy with the blue eyes?” I asked.

  Joe nodded. “He was like the master of ceremonies. He reveled in it. If I’d had a gun then I would have walked
right up and shot him.”

  I believed him. His eyes had a murderous glint.

  “Ash,” Luke said.

  “Yeah. It could mean big trouble, especially as the first time they ran into him, it was in Plymouth. Where is this Ashland?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen it on the map; it’s a few miles south of Plymouth. The name would have appealed to that asshole, like it was fucking named for him.”

  “Our teams will need to be extra careful when they’re doing supply runs from now on. Make sure they have a description of Ash and, if they run into him, they have to know they can’t negotiate. He’s a killer and they should kill him if they get the chance or get the hell away as quick as they can.”

  “Yeah, extreme prejudice,” said Luke, running his finger over the sharpened point of his hook.

  15

  Peace was our first baby, but she wouldn’t be our last. Our little community grew that first year and continued expanding in the following years. Even though there were more births, refugees were our lifeblood. Most of the people we took in were from nearby. It never ceased to amaze me how many kids actually survived while hiding from the Chinese and in the time after.

  As for the Chinese, they didn’t come back. We heard rumors and wild speculation from refugees. They had gone back to China. The retro virus had killed them all. NATO had nuked them in retaliation. The scenario most plausible to us was the Chinese had abandoned the East Coast altogether, but still controlled Canada and Central and Western United States.

  Given that the Chinese didn’t return and no other nations sent aid or forces to help what was left of us, we came to the conclusion the Chinese had simply left the East Coast as a dead zone and the rest of the world had written us off.

  It didn’t mean the Chinese wouldn’t come back in the future, but clearly the territory they had conquered and now had control of was vast. If our speculation about the reasons behind the Chinese attacking the U.S. were correct, they now had plenty of living room and resources.