by Sergio Gomez
“All of them are dead!” The burly man shouted. A tear rolled down one of his eyes and it gleamed in the sunlight.
“I know,” Alejandro wanted to add, it’s the end of the world. “But you need to get a hold of yourself, sir.”
That seemed to be the magic phrase because the life started coming back into the man’s eyes, it was like watching a light bulb being turned on in slow motion. The pupils, bit by bit, lit back up.
When the bulb was fully switched on, the interaction took a dramatic turn. The man fell backwards on his ass. With his legs he kicked away from Alejandro, meanwhile his hands searched the surrounding grass frantically for the axe. His hand closed around it and he started getting up.
Alejandro fired the gun again, this time at the grass inches away from his hip, and once again the man stopped mid-motion.
“I don’t think trying to kill me is your best option here, amigo.” Alejandro said.
The burly man’s eyes were peeled back like a pug about to get a lashing.
“I mean no harm unless you’re the one looking for it.” Alejandro told him.
The burly man cleared his throat. “Okay, okay, there. I’ll put this axe down and you put the gun down. How’s that sound?”
Alejandro raised his eyebrows to say, you first.
The man put the axe to the side, then turned on his butt and kicked it away, regretting it the very second he did it. “There, you see?”
Alejandro holstered the gun, watching the man carefully. When the gun was away, the burly man’s shoulder’s relaxed and he let out a short, but audible sigh.
For a few more seconds Alejandro watched to see if he would try to pull anything quick, if he did Alejandro would shoot him, but nothing happened. He just sat there with his head down, looking at the grass between his legs.
“Name’s Alejandro.”
The burly man looked up to Alejandro’s extended hand and grabbed it. Alejandro helped him up.
“My name’s John.” He said.
Standing side by side Alejandro noted that John was about an inch taller than him, with silvery hair that ran down past his ears. A mustache that looked like it was far too comical to be real sat on his lip and matched the color of the hair on his head.
“My boy saw your truck riding through the woods,” Alejandro told him, gesturing toward the black truck.
John looked at it, almost surprised, like he had forgotten it was there. “Oh yeah, that was me. Thought your boy was a ghost and almost got scared up into heaven.”
John took in a breath through his mouth and while shaking his head said: “Some world we live in, huh, Mr. Alejandro? Where I see a young boy standing by himself and turn and run instead of trying to help him because he might have a gun or knife to kill me with.”
Alejandro agreed with him, but there were more pressing matters to discuss. “I can’t help but ask John, where did you get that truck?”
“Oh, that thing’s been mine for five years now. Got it from Willy’s—” He paused for a second when he realized that Willy’s Auto Lot was long gone now, reduced to rubble and burned to a crisp. “Yep, bought her from there a long while ago. “
“Well, how exactly is it still running?”
John looked into the darkened church and then back at Alejandro. “Mr. Alejandro, how about we go inside and talk in there over some food. I got some I don’t mind sharing.”
His answer raised even more questions in his mind, but the mere mentioning of food made his stomach rumble and won him over. “Go on ahead, if you don’t mind. I’m going to go find my son and then we’ll come join you.”
John nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go and get started.”
Alejandro watched the man bend over to pick up his discarded axe. His gut instinct told him that there was no danger from this man now that he had his wits about him, and he could feel that the man trusted him as well. It was like a connection between two survivors who had been searching for others was finally made between the two, and an instant trust had been built between them.
“Sorry about coming at you with the axe, I hardly remember anything other than last night.” John looked across the lawn to the fallen gate. “Don’t even remember smashing through that, either.”
“That’s alright,” Alejandro responded. “It’s not exactly normal circumstances we’ve met in.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” John said, and winked at him. With that he turned and went up the steps.
Alejandro watched him for a moment until John was inside, then he turned to the stone wall.
“Charlie, todo bien!” He called out.
Charlie poked his head out from behind the stone wall. Then he sprinted out at full force until he jumped into Alejandro’s arms. He was crying the moment he touched Alejandro’s body.
“Whoa there, Mijo, come on.”
He moved him away to get a better look at him. “Charlie, hey, relax mijo, everything’s fine.”
Charlie wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. “Did you kill someone, daddy?”
“No, no. Everything’s fine.” Alejandro knelt down and put his arms around him. “Look at me.”
Charlie looked up, eyes puffy and red. “I thought maybe you killed someone or—“
He started sobbing again. Alejandro held him a little closer until he had control of himself.
“I thought maybe someone shot you, papi,” Charlie said, sniffling, because there was nothing left in him to cry out.
“I’m okay, Charlie. Look!” Alejandro stood up and put his arms out to show him he was still whole. “See?”
Charlie nodded.
“And no one is going to change that. No one will take me away from you, you hear? It’s us two the entire way, los dos amigos. I won’t let anything change that.”
“You pinky promise?” Charlie asked.
Alejandro stuck out his hand with his little finger curled. “I pinky promise.”
Charlie hooked his own finger around his and grinned. “No take backs!”
“Nope, no take backs. No take backs today, no take backs tomorrow, no take backs ever.”
“Alright, good!”
Alejandro smiled at his son’s satisfaction. “Okay now, let’s go say hi to our new friend.”
“New friend?”
“Yeah, he’s waiting for us in the church.”
Charlie’s face brightened. “It’s like God left a gift for us at his own house!”
“Yeah, Charlie, it’s exactly that.” Alejandro said, not quite sure if he believed that or not himself.
He put his hand on his son’s shoulder and together they walked into the church.
7
The church was enshrouded in darkness besides the occasional pools of light that spilled in through the holes in the stained glass windows—they were like the lights you see in between parting clouds on the front of every religious pamphlet, funny enough.
“Over here,” John called from three rows down the broken pews.
He was hunched over a camping stove in the middle of a pool of pale light coming from a lantern sitting next to him.
The aroma of the eggs and ham John was cooking filled Alejandro and Charlie’s nostrils before they even stepped into the light. They turned their lanterns off and came to John’s side.
“Glad you could join me,” He said, smiling at them.
“What’re you making?” Alejandro took in a deep breath to catch a good whiff of the food. He could almost taste it in his mouth. “Smells amazing.”
“Eggs with ham and red peppers. Never been much of a cook, but heck, I’ll take the compliments.”
Alejandro laughed. “Well, you’re a five-star chef tonight. Need any help?”
John grinned underneath his big mustache. “No sir, I think I can manage. You and your boy can go and have a seat right over there and get as comfy as you can.”
There were three makeshift stools across from the stove that were actually cushions from the kneeling bars piled on top
of other pieces of wood.
Alejandro sat on an end one and Charlie took the one in the middle, the third one seemed to be reserved for John as the axe resting on top of it indicated.
Alejandro looked around at the church, or at least, what the glow from the lantern would let him see. There was a stage where a congregation had once been held, where a priest spoke Bible verses and asked his audience to repeat “amen” at the end of dramatic parts. Where church goers had gathered around at the end of mass to make small talk about their families, “how are the kids?” “how’re your parents doing?” “that’s good to hear, my family is doing wonderful”, but those times were long gone.
All that remained were black walls and shattered stained glass windows where tendrils of lights spilled in to pool on the dust covered floor. That and the echoes of the people who used to come here to speak to God, to seek refuge from the discomforts and pains of their daily lives; it was as if the hopes and prayers still hovered like spirits unwilling to die.
“Guess you want to know how the truck still runs?” John asked.
“Yeah.” Alejandro said.
“Besides using her last night, I couldn’t tell you the last time I used ‘er, that’s why the gas tank is full.” He looked over his shoulder.
“What happened last night?” Alejandro asked.
“Last night that truck out there was my only hope of escaping death.” He said as he turned back to the stove.
“How so?”
“You care if your boy hears this? It ain’t a pretty story, Mr. Alejandro.”
The thought of Charlie seeing the dead man in the circus came across his mind. “No, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Alright, then,” John said, “I’ll just cut to the chase and tell you the important stuff…”
*
It wasn’t supposed to get to them, at least, not yet. The news—when there were still channels broadcasting—said so. All the killing and violence was supposed to be occurring in major cities and surrounding areas, not up here. Not up here where the closest neighbor was a thirty minute drive away and everything in between was green pasture. The rural folk were supposed to be safe from The Chaos.
And they had been, up until those monsters started showing up on his property. Everything changed then.
The first time he saw one was when he was down by the river. John was filling the last bucket of water and turning toward the wagon carrying the other eight gallons when he noticed his cocker spaniel staring out into the distance.
His teeth bared and growling low, the kind that seems to be coming more from the chest and not the mouth, he was focused on something on the other side of the river. John looked in the direction Gareth was staring, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The sun was setting, not quite dark but not light enough to be called day anymore, and all John saw was the splotches of shadows created by the densely wooded area that surrounded the river.
“Come on boy, it’s too late for you to be thinking about squirrels. You got all day tomorrow to do that.”
Words he would regret, because they weren’t true.
*
“I left Gareth outside that night, he liked that on summer nights like that one.” John put a finger up to his eye and rubbed a tear away. “He was a good pooch, Mr. Ramos.”
“What happened to him?” Charlie stopped chewing on the rough part of his thumb long enough to blurt out.
Alejandro shot him an icy glare that simultaneously told him to stop that disgusting habit and to not interrupt the adults when they’re talking. Charlie shrunk back in his seat, wiping his thumb on the side of his pants.
“I woke in the middle of the night several times that night, wasn’t too sure why back then. But looking back, I think I knew something was out there, something not right was out there on my property. Each time I woke up I heard my pooch barking at something. I didn’t think much of it, Gareth was a noisy little fella’ that would bark at lightning bugs.” A faint smile came across his face when he remembered his dog.
“When morning came, I went about my usual routine. Got dressed in my working clothes, put a pot of coffee on the stove, then went out expecting to see Gareth dozing off in the corner of the porch where he always was. Instead, I found nothing. Not even that morning’s paper.”
8
The sun was beating down on the farmhouse that morning, positioned perfectly so that its beams slanted in through the porch awning and blasted John, who stood with the morning paper folded in his hand. He looked for his dog, fully expecting him to be at the foot of the rocking chair like every other summer morning when he left him out for the night, but he wasn’t.
John furrowed his brow and called out to him. “Gareth! Gareth, where are you boy?”
He listened for any signs of the dog, either trotting back from wherever he had ventured to or barking in response. Nothing, nothing but the wind moving through the bushes and rustling the branches together.
John looked at the bowl full of water across from the rocking chair. It was filled nearly to the top, so it wasn’t that he went down to the river to get a drink because he forgot to fill it. Odd.
The screen door opened behind him and his wife wearing slippers and holding two cups of coffee in her hand walked out on the porch next to him. “John? What’s wrong?”
John put his hands on his hip. “Gareth went off somewhere.”
“He’s probably down by the river.” She said, and although there was a bit of an unsure air to the statement, it was the only thing that made sense because it was the only place the dog ever wandered to. “Here, I got you your coffee.”
John took it from her and drank it. It was scalding hot, but he barely noticed the sting and numbing because his mind was elsewhere. Gareth had to be down by the river, it was the only logical explanation.
“Come on, let’s go inside.” Mary said. “Or you gonna go and look for ‘em?”
“I’m going to go look for him.” He said, and handed the mug back to her.
“Alright, I’ll go start breakfast.” She said, then went back inside the house.
John watched her make the bend around the living room wall that separated it from the kitchen. When she was out of sight, for some reason he couldn’t explain, gut instincts perhaps, he walked to the shed where he kept his shotgun. He took it off its hooks it was sitting on, it felt alien in his hands. He had bought it when they first moved into the farm—what was it, twenty years ago now?—and had only fired it once when there was a black bear in his yard. Besides that time, he had only ever handled it when cleaning it once a month.
Now he wielded it like what it was, a weapon made to kill. He grabbed some shells from a nearby shelf and loaded them into the shotgun. He felt like a man prepared to go to war, and didn’t know why. He wouldn’t know until later that night.
*
“My pooch wasn’t at the river. It wasn’t back in the farm sleeping in a new place the way animals sometimes decide to make a corner their new bed. Nope, Gareth was gone, and I had no idea what happened to him until that night.”
“They came that night, didn’t they?”
John sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you what; I used to read in the paper that the Chaos might never get to us rural folks. That it would be a long, long time until it came to us, if at all. I believed it back then, too.”
He laughed, but there was no amusement behind it.
“I was sitting on my porch that night with a glass of lemonade and wondering where in tarnation my dog went, when I saw them Mr. Ramos. Their beady red eyes were looking at me from the road in front of my home, cloaked by the darkness like ghouls or somethin’.”
John choked up and had to swallow what felt like a golf ball lodged in his throat. “You remember the first time you saw one of ‘em?”
Alejandro did, he remembered it too well. He nodded in response.
“It was like looking into the eyes of the devil’s children,” John said. “I
was just about ready to jump out of my skin, I swear.”
The image of them bashing the bear’s head with the rocks played in Alejandro’s mind like a slasher film, and sent a chill down his spine.
A summer breeze that slipped through the many holes in the stained glass window behind him blew on Alejandro’s back. He looked down at the eggs in his bowl and to his chagrin saw he had eaten more than half of his meal.
“I got more eggs and meat in my backpack if you want another helping.” John said, noticing the look on his face.
Alejandro wanted to say yes, his stomach still grumbled despite feeling full. Psychological hunger and a yearning for more real food, more than anything, so he declined the offer with a wave of his hand. “No, maybe later. I’d like to hear the rest of your story.”
*
Gareth was as good as gone, he concluded that evening. There were no signs of him anywhere, not even any bloodshed of a struggle. It was the strangest thing because he had gotten Gareth as a pup and was as loyal as any farm dog, but it seemed he just got up and left.
The thought struck some fear in John’s mind because he had read in one of them National Geographic magazines one time about animals having a form of “sixth sense” when catastrophic events were about to occur. Rhinos stampeding to safety before a monsoon flooded the area, lions moving their pride just a day before an earthquake, birds flying to safety before a hurricane destroyed the forest around them, stuff like that. Maybe Gareth was fleeing from the farm because it was finally about time that what the rest of the country was experiencing, the fighting, the wild animals acting funny, the strange weather patterns, was finally coming to their small little farm up here.
He was sitting on the porch when these thoughts occurred to him. A chilled glass of homemade lemonade, the radio turned up high and blasting over the chirping of crickets and the creaks of the rocking chair he sat in, and for some (then) inexplicable reason his shotgun lying by his feet. An ideal ending to a hard day on the farm if not for his dog going missing.
