A Place Outside The Wild

by Daniel Humphreys

  Vir smiled again. “I can’t wait. Shall we?”

  For the first time in a long time, Charlie was completely alone. It was strangely exciting.

  He hadn’t asked permission or told anyone of his intent. He’d walked over to the last Humvee in the motor pool, topped off its tank, and drove away. The crew at the west gate hadn’t questioned it. Perhaps they’d assumed he was running around assisting in the recovery effort. Maybe they’d seen Charlie at the wheel and figured he could move about as he pleased. Whichever the case, they’d lifted the gate and he’d driven on.

  Once, if forced into absolute honesty, Charlie Maddox would have proclaimed that hope was something lost to him. It had shriveled up and died inside of his chest on that day so long ago. On Z-Day, he’d not only lost the two things that gave his life purpose but those things became something that wanted to destroy him.

  Neither Corey nor Dalton had said anything to him about the tote of supplies he’d left behind. Such was Charlie’s credit in their bank of trust. If he wanted to leave a box of salvage out in the middle of a housing edition, who were they to judge?

  He touched his throat, then rubbed it. They were good men. He hoped that they’d be working together in the future. Charlie had carried little out the gate with him. The holstered pistol at his hip wasn’t for his own defense. If he felt his faculties began to slip, or if the sclera of his eyes turned from white to gray, he hoped that he’d have time to put himself down.

  In the chaos of the last few days, he hadn’t much time to think about the possible survivors in the subdivision, but when he had, his thoughts had been self-deprecating. If possible, he’d questioned himself far more than his teammates ever would have.

  Finally, he’d felt foolish about the entire thing and resolved to put it from his mind. The world had changed, had moved on. What little good that remained was fleeting and sparse. Who was he to expect?

  Who was he, to hope?

  After yesterday, he couldn’t help but think that he’d gotten his answer.

  The damage to both the settlement and its population remained, but there was a new undercurrent in the air. An excited buzz that had never been there as long as Charlie had lived there.

  It ranged from excited whispering to bold gossip. Hands that had been idle unless forced to labor were suddenly there, offering to help in the cleanup.

  We’re not alone! More Marines are coming! They want us to expand, they want to help!

  Miles saved us all — Miles helped find a way to stop this. Could it be . . . ? Could things someday be back to normal?

  They told tales of their own people as well and made heroes of ordinary men and women.

  Norma went crazy, she was threatening some kids — Jenny Faqir tackled her and saved them all.

  When he heard the words about the last stand he and Pete had made at the Crow’s Nest, he couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or laugh at the absurdity. The now-healed wound at his side had reached epic proportions in some of the telling.

  On such anvils are heroes forged. Horatius at the bridge; Leonidas at the Hot Gates. Charlie on the catwalk.

  It wasn’t so much the stories, he knew — it was the emotion behind them. Dead men tell no tales, but neither do dying societies. If there is no hope for a future, why remember the past?

  As Charlie listened to the words, as he saw the excited faces, something kindled within him. Something grew inside, until it settled — not unlike a lump in his throat — and made him wonder, what if. What if?

  And so he drove now, navigating through the country roads, driving past scavenged houses and the rusting hulks of farm equipment. Little stirred as he moved through the countryside. The smarter, faster biters had gathered their army to them and left little behind. Somewhere, of course, there would be more, but for today, it could have been a bright spring morning in the past. The windows on the Humvee didn’t roll down, but he could open the top hatch and let in the cloudless blue sky and the fresh air, alive with the scent of growing things.

  His excitement grew and grew, and when he pulled into the entrance of the subdivision, he couldn’t stop the smile that flashed across his face. The tote was no longer where he’d left it. Little else had changed in the subdivision save for that, but that one small thing was enough to maintain the spark inside his chest.

  Charlie pulled to a stop and put the Humvee in park. He waited, and the newfound thoughts of possibility dueled with the cold pessimism that had ruled him for so long. Overwhelmed with the emotion of it, he closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest.

  Please, Lord, he prayed. Grant me just this one thing. Forgive me for doubting you, Lord.

  He raised his head and looked at each home in turn. Then, at the third house, he saw her.

  The girl was dirty; her clothing ragged and overlarge. She stood silently in the open door of the house and studied the Humvee and Charlie. Her hair was short, blondish-brown and raggedly cut.

  It had been a long time since Charlie had looked at a child and considered their age. He thought this girl might be a short ten-year-old or a tall eight-year-old. Either way, she'd spent the majority of her life in this changed world. Was she maybe a little bit like Charlie? Did she know what hope was?

  He eased the door of the Humvee open and stepped out, standing behind it so as not to spook her. She didn’t stir, just kept studying Charlie. “Hello,” he called out and winced at the volume of it. He brought a hand to his throat and rubbed it. His mind was telling him there should be pain, but he felt nothing. Just this one thing.

  She cocked her head to one side, looked around, and finally spoke. Even then, she kept her voice pitched low, and he had to strain to hear it. “Why did you help us?”

  Charlie pushed down his surprise. “That’s what grownups should do,” he said, finally. “Make sure kids are okay.”

  The girl stepped forward, and Charlie realized there was another child standing behind her — a boy, with the same, ragged hair, but smaller. Perhaps half her age. He clutched the raggedy girl’s jacket with one hand and had the thumb of his other hand planted in his mouth.

  “That’s what Pap-pap said,” the girl murmured. “We hid from the monsters for a long time with him until the bad men came. Pap-pap told us to run and hide and he would come find us.” She looked at Charlie in consideration, and when she spoke again, there was a faint note in her voice. It was almost pleading. “Are you one of the bad men?”

  “No,” Charlie said. “No, I’m not.”

  The three of them stood, staring at each other. Finally, the girl looked down at her companion and whispered to him. The little boy looked at her, then Charlie, and back again. He nodded. His sister looked back at Charlie, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. She wanted to believe, but life hadn’t given her many rewards for her faith. He could understand that.

  “Come with me,” Charlie said. “There’s a safe place like I said in the note. You can come stay. There are other kids, a school. We have animals.” He fell silent. He didn’t know what else to say but finally, he smiled and said, “For a long time we argued about what to call it.” He laughed, despite himself. “We finally decided, though. We named it Hope.”

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  I’d also like to give a huge shout-out to my awesome crew of beta readers at AoSHQ. You helped make this a better book, and I am forever grateful.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Daniel Humphreys geeks out for movies, target shooting, and football. He has worked in Fortune 500 IT for over two decades, and resides in southern Indiana with his wife and children.