Copyright © 2018 by Mixi J Applebottom and Hayley Lawson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Mixi
About Hayley
Also by Mixi J Applebottom
To Hayley, you may be one-minute younger, but you’re not half as smart.
Love, Mixi.
Aiden watched, as the shiny, metal wall bulged from the horde of people pushing.
He blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. The wall was moving from their force, and the light caught on metal, making it look like a shimmering wave dancing in the wind.
Aiden fumbled for his axe while his eyes were locked on the wall. He knew they wouldn’t get into the colony; they hadn’t for the past ten years.
One thing Aiden had learned was to never take a chance on anything.
“Daddy! Pick me up, I want to see!” Mike, Aiden’s son, asked. It only took Aiden a second to throw his five-year-old boy up on his hip.
“Is that where they are pushing?” asked Mike, his eyes wide with excitement. To him, the horde was still exciting. Mike seemed to have never-ending optimism.
“Yeah, I gotta go take care of it,” Aiden replied. He wasn’t nearly as excited as his son; instead of watching the bobbing heads, he was staring at the fence, wondering how long it would hold. Aiden turned to the closet and looked at his assorted weapons— bats, golf clubs, most of them were simply sledgehammers and the sort. He selected a large-headed axe with a smooth long handle and a freshly sharpened blade, with the blood from the last fight removed. There was something ceremonious about cleaning off blood and guts from a weapon after a battle, like the calm after the storm.
Father and son were hypnotized by the shimmering metal.
“Do you have to go now?” Mike asked.
“Yes,” Aiden replied, his eyes never wavering from the wall. It was bulging, rumbling from the weight of all those people. “Dad, can you take care of Mike?”
Jack looked at the two, annoyed. “I can look after us! I’ve killed more than you’ve even seen,” he told them smugly, but they both knew he was too old to do much these days.
Jack shrugged his shoulders, “Of course you have; you’re an old fart, aren’t you.” He grinned. Mike giggled at his dad.
Jack played along with Aiden to the amuse Mike. “Old fart … old fart … Mike, do I smell like an old fart?” he said, looking down at Mike. “Do I?” He tickled his grandson.
Mike wiggled frantically as he tried to get away from his grandpa’s finger. “You don’t smell like an old fart,” Mike screamed between laughter.
Jack stopped tickling Mike, much to the kid’s relief.
Aiden leaned in and gave his son a hug goodbye. Mike wrapped his little arms around his dad. Aiden kissed his son’s forehead.
“How did this all start?” asked Mike, looking into his father’s tired eyes.
Aiden glanced down and gave Mike his award-winning smile. “I know you’d love to stall me with a story, but Grandpa Jack would love to tell you,” Aiden said. He kissed his son on his forehead, then placed him down on the floor. Aiden slipped on a thick leather jacket. It had been patched and reinforced several times.
Then he pulled the leather mask on over his face. The last step was the thick leather gloves. Aiden had covered as much of his body as he could. Then, his final protection— Aiden whistled and four big dogs joined him. Mike stared at his father as he stepped out into the bright sunlight, the dogs wagging their tails, and for a moment, with the sunlight streaming in, he looked like the warrior he was. But then he waved, and he looked like Dad again.
Jack was sitting in his chair. He’d gained it a few years back and couldn’t remember whose it was, but it was his now. The tiny red roses had faded from all the butts and the warm farts. He’d fought against the hordes since he was five. It was time to let the next generations take the planet back, if the planet could still be saved. “Mike, come here.”
The little boy had pulled a chair over to stare out the window and watch his dad. Mike let out an annoyed sound. “I want to watch.”
Jack patted his lap. “It’s not good for your little eyes.”
Mike’s eyes went wide. “Will Dad go blind from watching?”
Jack burst out with a laugh. “No, I mean… kids weren’t really supposed to grow up like this. You remind me of myself. I always had so many questions… and ideas.”
“I had the idea to make a cake as big as I am tall for your birthday party!” Mike clamped his hand over his mouth, and his eyes went wide. “Tell no one I told you.”
Jack couldn’t help but grin. He’d be eighty-five in just a few weeks, and Mike had been telling him every detail of his surprise party, slowly, one leaked fact at a time. Jack’s hand fell into his pants pocket, just as it had every time there was a fight to be had. He ran his fingers over the lump in his pocket; it was his only remaining toy. His pockets used to be full of them; now there was only one left and that would go to his youngest grandson Mike.
Mike’s big brown eyes looked up at his grandpa. “How did this all start?” Jack could see his son Aiden in Mike’s eyes; he was the double of his dad.
Jack patted his knee. “Hop on and I’ll tell you.” Mike clambered onto his grandpa’s lap.
“I’ve got something for you,” Jack said to Mike as he pulled out the toy soldier from his pocket. Jack’s hands trembled from age as he passed the toy soldier to his grandson. Mike inspected the soldier. The paint had all worn off it from years of being played with. Even the toy itself looked tired.
Not that Mike had noticed; he had a beaming grin on his face, “It's a tiny man!” said Mike excitedly. Mike looked away from the toy soldier to his grandpa. “Grandpa, how did it all start?” asked Mike, pushing as he squirmed on his grandpa’s lap to get comfortable.
Jack looked at the little toy soldier in Mike’s hands. “This used to be mine. I had it the first day. It was in my backpack…” he said to his grandson as he cleared his throat.
“Everything would’ve been different if we had answered that phone call,” Jack said and looked down at his scarred arm. His oversized sweater had slid up. He pulled the sleeve back down. “That toy soldier came with me to school on that very day. I had more, but over the years, they were lost, broken, or passed down.” Jack smiled fondly at the metal toy, but to Jack, it was more than just a toy. It had been through everything with him.
Mike grinned as he made the soldier walk up his grandpa’s arm. He pretended that it was going into battle alongside his father. “I know this part; it’s when your dad didn’t answer the call,” Mike told his grandpa. The little soldier paused a moment, then started to wander back down the arm. “But how did the sickness happen? Was it magic?”
Jack scratched his head and looked at his little grandkid. “Well, there’s been plenty of theories. They all turned so fast… My mother would have sworn it was the fluoride in the water. I’m not sure we’ll ever figure it out,” Jack said. He waited for the tiny soldier to get to his fingers, and then quickly finger-gunned him with the other hand.
Mike made the toy fall over and burst out laughing. “Ahh, you got me!”
Jack laughed in response. Mike curled into his lap, relaxing
, and slowly looked at the toy, turning it gently in his hands. “How many were there? I mean, at the beginning?” he asked with his eyes filled with wonder.
Jack swallowed hard, and his hand shook as he remembered. “It was like a waterfall; they pushed in from every side. All I could see was figures racing towards us from the horizon. They were zillions.”
The phone rang, buzzing and singing inside of Hunter’s pocket. He reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out. Before he had a chance to answer, his wife Karen grabbed the phone and set it down. “Not during breakfast. It’s the first day of school,” his wife told Hunter, waving her spatula at him.
Hunter went for the phone, but his wife wasn’t having any of it. “I know, but it might be work…” Before Hunter could continue, his wife interrupted once again.
Karen shook her head. “Not important. Breakfast is family time.” She gestured at their children. Francis was thirteen, and her hair was pulled into a tight little ponytail. Jack was five years old; he was playing with a metal toy soldier at the kitchen dinner table.
It was the first day of school, kindergarten for Jack. He was a curious boy and always filled to the brim with ideas and questions. Hunter quickly whispered to the little boy, “Better hide your soldier, or your mom may steal him from you.” Hunter grinned as Jack gripped hold of the toy. No one would be able to pry him out of his grip.
Hunter’s phone beeped, and he wondered for a moment if he could take a sneak peek at the message, but then a pile of sweet delicious hot pancakes was set in front of him.
He grabbed one of the hot pancakes and put it on his plate, and Karen turn and slapped his hand. “None for you, mister; you get heart-healthy oatmeal.” She moved his steaming hot pancake to Jack’s plate and set a hot bowl of plain oatmeal in front of him, then headed back to the oven.
Hunter grimaced at his new breakfast. “I literally hate you,” Hunter said, pointing his spoon at his wife.
She chuckled as she poured another pancake onto the griddle. “You can hate me all you want as long as you don’t have a heart attack,” Karen told him. She loved her husband and planned to grow old with him, and there was no way they were going to do that unless he lost the kegs around his belly.
“Hank, time for breakfast,” Karen hollered to Hunter’s father, Hank. She poured another circle of batter on the griddle.
Hank wheeled his heavy wheelchair into the kitchen as he went by, his wheel clunking into Jack’s chair legs. Hank hated the thing; he quickly reversed back and took his place at the head of the table. “Hunter, what’s that bowl of slop you’re eating?” Hank asked as he piled hot cakes onto his plate.
Hunter didn’t look up from his breakfast bowl; he stirred it in the hope it would magically become something tasty. “Dad, you know what it is.”
Karen gave Hank a stern look. “Hank, you know Hunter is trying to watch his weight. Why don’t you give your son a bit of support?” she said as she placed a fresh batch of hot cakes on the table.
Hank looked over at his son. “He’s chunky,” said Hank. The cranky older man shifted painfully in his wheelchair. His arms weren’t very strong anymore, and his hand shook a little as he pointed at Hunter.
Hunter stood up and stuck out his stomach. Then he pulled up his shirt and slapped his hairy belly, making it wobble. “What, me?” Hunter said, grinning.
Francis ignored the entire breakfast conversation. She did not like the antics of either her father or grandfather. In fact, she made a loud, exasperated sigh and leaned forward over her plate. She pressed one hand to her temple. Breakfast needed to be over so she could get to school. She had been thinking about this boy named Mark who was utterly stupid.
Jack, on the other hand, immediately stood up and lifted up his shirt. His stomach was smooth, and his ribs were practically showing. “Am I chunky?” he said.
Karen turned around. “Everyone sit down and have your breakfast. First day of school. I’m not gonna have you going hungry,” she said in a flurry. Her body moved in the fast rhythm of a woman who had cooked breakfast many times. Orange juice magically appeared through her movements and landed in cups in front of each person.
Hank looked over. “You are the opposite of chunky. You are skin and bones. I think you should eat extra pancakes.” Hank waved his fork at the scrawny little five-year-old boy.
Jack smiled and sat back down. Quickly, he poured the golden syrup all over his pancakes. While Karen’s back was turned, Hunter pointed to the golden syrup bottle in his son’s hand and then his oatmeal, and winked to his son. Jack looked over his shoulder. His mom was busy sorting out their lunches. Jack squeezed the syrup over Hunter’s oatmeal until the top had a glitzy shimmer of golden deliciousness.
Hunter gratefully winked at his son and ate up the top layer of oatmeal to cover up any evidence of their crime. Finally, my training at the police academy has come in handy; only took twenty years. Hunter laughed to himself at that thought. This wasn’t really the first time his training had come in handy; it just felt like it. Being the town sheriff wasn’t as exciting as the television shows made it.
Once Hunter had gotten past the top layer, the boring cardboard-like oatmeal taste and texture was back. He sighed and pushed it away. At least there are always donuts at the station, thought Hunter.
Hank looked over at Jack’s plate, which was swimming in syrup. “You’ll get cavities.” Hank was gruff and altogether a miserable man. He loved them all, but it was hard for him to feel anything other than the pain in his hips. “Especially since we don’t have any of that teeth-protecting fluoride in the water.” He took his time with the words, practically spitting them in Karen’s direction.
Karen set down her spatula with an angry thump. “Fluoride is a poison. It’s a poison, and I will never let them put it in our water. It’s the leftover waste from making fertilizer, and they are trying to trick us into thinking it is some sort of vitamin.” She turned to Hank and angrily put her hands on her hips. “You seem to be having trouble being civil this morning,” she said breathlessly.
Hunter immediately raised both his hands to calm them down. “I don’t want to hear it again. Hank likes fluoride. Karen, you hate it. We don’t need to hash it all out. I know you’re going to the library today to do your protest,” Hunter said and glanced over at his dad. Why does he have to harass everyone this early? Can’t we wake up first? Hunter thought.
Karen wasn’t finished with Hank. “We are a tiny town. We don’t need that poison in our water,” hissed Karen, and breakfast was totally ruined at this point. She turned and took Hank’s hot cakes away. “You’re chunky too,” She added. Nothing like a morning argument to start the day.
“I’m not done with that,” Hank protested.
Karen walked towards the sink. “You are now.” A loud clattering came out of the sink as she started to wash the dishes.
Hank leaned into his grandson, “Eat up, Jack, or she’ll be after yours.” He winked, then stole a piece of hot cake from Jack’s plate. Hunter spotted what he was doing and did the same. The three generations of men giggled at they did it.
Karen could hear the snickers from the breakfast table and watched the three of them share Jack’s breakfast. They really were the three amigos. She sighed, irritated, and shooed them away from the now empty plate. Francis looked up from her breakfast for a moment and rolled her eyes at her mom. Karen mouthed “Men” to her daughter. Francis rolled her eyes once again. She never really understood the chaos that everyone made in the morning. As soon as her mother’s back was turned, she slipped out her cellphone.
Hunter glanced at the clock. Almost eight thirty; he’d be leaving for the station soon. If he was lucky, there would be a spousal dispute or something to keep him busy this morning so he wouldn’t have to go over with his wife to argue about fluoride in the water… again. Hunter didn’t particularly care one way or another, but he was caught in the middle. Hank was always protesting for fluoride, and his wife was constantly protesting
against. Hank wheeled his wheelchair over and clicked on the radio. It made static noises.
Hank gestured for Hunter to come over to him. “Radio is not working.”
Hunter got up from the breakfast table, having given up on the sad oatmeal. His tummy rumbled hungrily. He left his gooey sludge for his wife to deal with. Karen sat down, finally ready to eat her pancakes. Francis sat across from her mom but hadn’t noticed she’d sat down as her head was down as she stared at her cellphone.
“What are you looking up?” Karen asked. Francis was always researching something.
“Stuff about brain tumors,” Francis said, “I know that sometimes smells mean you have one, so I was just doing some research.” She swallowed and glanced up nervously. “Uh, for a school thing.” Then she stared back down at the article on her phone.
Hunter toyed with the radio; it seemed to be working, as in operating, but there was static on every station. No news, no music. Odd. It must not actually be connecting. “The antenna must have broken. I’ll pick up a new one on the way home from work tonight,” Hunter told Hank. Hank grunted his annoyance.
Jack had pulled out his toy soldier again, pretending to have it jump from a helicopter and parachute to the ground. “Do you think pilots get to jump out of helicopters all the time?” Jack asked his sister.
Francis glanced over at her little brother. “I hope not. I read that it gives a lot of injuries on the spine. Besides, I don’t think a pilot should jump out of the helicopter. If they did, who’d be flying?” She pushed a wispy brown hair away from her face and carefully put on banana-flavored lip gloss. Her phone had made its way back to her pocket. They weren’t technically allowed at school, but nobody followed that rule.
Jack nodded. “Well this is gonna be me when I’m grown up, a helicopter jumper. But, by the time I’m old, they’ll have new spines,” he said knowingly.
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