After the End: Recent Apocalypses

by Kage Baker

  He said, “It’d be better to hole up somewhere nearby, you know, find a well-defended place to put down roots. It gets hot as blazes in the summer here now, but it’s dry enough you can survive it. Not like the Wet-Bulb Die-Offs in the southeast.”

  She shook her head. “And do what? This food won’t last us all through next winter and the land is too dry and rocky for crops. No, Bear. No. We have to go somewhere else, where we can grow food, raise livestock. Where we have a chance to survive and make a better life. We must find Hoku Pa’a. You have to help us.”

  Bear sighed. “Patty, this is madness. It’s over two thousand miles to the Arctic Ocean from here. What are you going to do, walk all the way?”

  A smile curved her lips. “Why not? I’ve walked over two thousand miles here from La Ciudad de México”

  “I don’t think you understand. Canada has been inundated with refugees; they have a full deportation policy now. And even they have lost control of their unpopulated territory. They don’t have the resources to keep the warlords under control.”

  “And I don’t think you understand,” she said. “Nothing has stopped us yet and nothing will.”

  Bear eyed her with deep reluctance.

  Truth was, for these kids, the chances were not so good no matter which way you cut it. Sometime soon they’d starve, or be cut down by a warlord’s snipers. Or get murdered, thrown into a work camp, or made into sex slaves. Bear and Orla had survived so long because they had kept low—stayed out of sight. That suited him much better than a journey off into the unknown, where you didn’t know the terrain or who was patrolling it. Patty might have an unstoppable will, but even she couldn’t fend off with her bare hands the bullets and hatchets, that barehanded violence that would befall these kids once they stepped onto the roads.

  But Patty was right that there was not much point in staying here. And their chances of making it someplace safe were even worse without him. He knew the area; he was a decent shot and a good hunter. His many years of life experience could come in handy. And Canada was the only nation in this hemisphere whose lands had remained partially arable, and whose cities were mostly still viable. If they could get the kids across the border, maybe someone in authority somewhere would have pity on them. It was their best chance to survive. Edmonton, perhaps, or Calgary.

  And if they were going to try for Canada, Highway 93 was better than I-15 or US 287. Refugees who traveled those two roads were not long for the world.

  Anyway, he thought, death by Good Samaritanism isn’t such a bad way to go.

  “All righty, then,” he said, and slapped his thighs. “I’m in.”

  As they were preparing their bedrolls, Sarah, the girl whose turn it was to care for the baby, came to Patty. She held the infant out. He hung limp in her hands. The little girl said, “He won’t wake up.”

  Patty took the baby in her lap and examined him. Her expression told Bear everything he needed to know. “Thank you, Sarah. Go get ready for bed now.”

  “Gone?” Bear asked softly.

  She nodded, lips thin. “He had diarrhea. Day after day. We tried. Nothing worked.” Her eyes glittered in the dim light of the fire and she passed her hands over them. After a silence she said, “The day he was born, it was the day his mother died. I promised her. I said I would take him, that I would protect him. But I knew even then. I knew it would be too much. No food. No water for days, till we got here. And the food was not right for him. I had hope, when we found la medicina. Pero no le ayudó.”

  She stroked the infant’s head, looking at Bear. “If I had cared for him only, and a few others, he might have survived. I hoped the children could do it . . . ”

  “Sounds like you had to make a tough call,” he said.

  She nodded and wiped tears away. Then she swaddled the infant’s body in a clean blanket and set it on the floor away from the others. She grabbed a shovel but Bear took it. “Let me.” Tom and Vanessa jumped up to help, too.

  She took it back, and yelled at all of them, “Go to bed! You need your rest,” and strode out into the dark.

  “Mind the little ones,” Bear told them. He grabbed his pickaxe and went outside. The moon had just risen, a pale lopsided knob beyond distant veils of smoke. Patty was nowhere to be seen. He made his way to the grove where he had buried Orla.

  “You see?” he told the stone that covered her grave. “You see? This is exactly why I should not have listened to you.”

  He took out his anger on the unforgiving ground: He pummeled it with his pickaxe, blow after jarring blow. After a while, he noticed Patty standing at the hole. She picked up the shovel and dug out the soil and rocks he had loosened. Neither of them said anything. They worked hard and long, till Bear’s back ached and his lungs screamed for mercy. When they finished, the moon was touching the western peaks of the Grand Tetons, and the stars in the east were starting to fade. They returned to the barn trembling with exhaustion, and pumped well water for each other to rinse off the dirt.

  Patty finally said, “Thank you.”

  “No trouble,” he mumbled. Damn stubborn woman.

  Bear did not wake till well after sunup. Not even the children’s noisy morning preparations fully awakened him. Finally Vanessa shook him and called his name. She handed him a cup of bitter black coffee and a handful of dried apples. The barn was empty but for the two of them. The infant’s wrapped body was gone.

  “Patty says you need to wake up now. It’s time to bury Pablo.”

  He gulped down the tepid coffee and ate the apples. Then he followed Vanessa along the hillside to Orla’s grove. Everyone else had gathered there, around the deep hole Bear and Patty had dug. Patty stood at the head of the grave. They all held little handfuls of wildflowers and grasses and twigs. Bear and Vanessa took their places among the mourners. Bear saw that the infant’s body had been laid in the hole.

  “Pablito,” Patty said, “You were very brave.” Her voice quavered. “We will always remember you.” She threw a flower into the grave and the others followed suit. “I know Pablo is with his mother now,” she told the others, and said the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish.

  “Amen,” Bear said, out of courtesy, though the days were long gone when he could take comfort from prayer.

  They rested that afternoon, and went to bed early that night. The children were all subdued. For a change they didn’t beg him for a story. But Bear sensed that this was not the first death they had seen. They had shown a quiet competence today. They knew how to say goodbye to the dead.

  After breakfast the next morning, Patty insisted that everyone take a bath. Bear said, “I thought you were in a hurry.” Tom and Vanessa thought it was a waste of water. “We’re just going to get dirty again,” the younger girl pointed out.

  “I don’t care!” Patty said. “It’s not healthy to be dirty all the time. When we can, we wash. So don’t argue.” To Bear she pointed out, “We’ll have a better chance at the border if we don’t look dirty.”

  The kids lined up and took turns bathing and washing their clothes, using water from Bear’s well, and soap and shampoo from Bear’s supplies. They ran a bucket brigade and set up a tarp near the well, so the kids could have a little privacy. Bubbles slowly spread from under the tarp, and shrieks, laughter, and splashing sounds issued forth. Patty went last. The relief on her face as she exited, combing her soaked hair with her fingers, spoke louder than a shout. The littlest ones, of course, were already dirty again, and Patty scolded them, and made them clean up again. She made them all brush their teeth, too. Everyone groaned and complained.

  “You want all your teeth to fall out? You’ll look like this!” She made gumming faces at them with her lips.

  Next they checked the kids’ wounds and sores, and treated them with Betadine and bandages. It was mostly their feet that needed attention. Bear used his hunting knife to rig sandals from the tires of his old Ford and leather bridle straps from the days they had kept horses. It took them all day. Patty didn’t want to l
ose another day, but when she got a look at the first pair he made, she agreed it was a good tradeoff.

  Vanessa, Patty, and Tom helped. Bear taught them how to measure and cut the rubber, how to weave in the leather straps and lace them up. They were all hot and sweaty again by the time they finished, and the kids were scattered about the meadow, running about and admiring their new shoes.

  “Time to go,” Patty said. Everyone lined up. The fourteen kids who were big enough (the kids who looked to be between six and nine) would pull the tarped load. The eldest four would walk alongside with their weapons. The six littlest ones would ride in the front of the trailer. Of these, four were perhaps four or five years old. Patty put them in charge of the two toddlers. Patty told the elder four, “You mind those babies! If they get hurt and it’s your fault, I’ll leave you by the roadside!”

  They stared at her and sucked their fists. They knew she meant it.

  Bear had argued with her over his own role. He had insisted on taking the front position at the harness but she said no; she needed him to keep watch. “You have to trust me, Bear. They are strong! They can do it.”

  “How are we different than the slavers, then?” he asked.

  She gasped in outrage. “Because we feed them every day, and teach them their letters, and make sure they bathe. We are trying to save them—not rape them, not make them kill their mothers and fathers, their sisters and brothers!”

  She turned away, fists clenched, breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She turned back. “Bear, you hurt me very badly with your words. I wish they could have had the years I had and you had, of being a child without so many worries and so much hurt. But those times are gone.

  “Mira.” She shook her rifle. “We have this. Now a shotgun, thanks to you. And two pistoles, and plenty of bullets. That’s good, yes? We need all the weapons we can against los caudillos.” The warlords. “Now look around and tell me. Besides you, me, Tomás, and Vanessa, who should handle such a weapon?”

  He looked across at the children’s faces and sighed. Babies, he thought. An army of babies, Orla.

  They set off shortly before sunset, down the rough gravel road of Bear’s driveway toward a farm-to-market road that fed onto Highway 93 about a mile and a half to the west.

  Everyone pushed, to start out. Once the wheels were rolling, the oldest four took their positions: Bear in front, Patty in the rear, and Tom and Vanessa flanking them.

  Privately Bear had thought that Patty’s plans were far too ambitious. The children would surely give up and she would have to stop. But he was wrong. The children strained and hurled themselves against the harness, time and again, till he thought his heart would burst with pride and anguish. They pulled the trailer over the bumpy road, up and down the hills, but no one uttered a sound, other than grunts as they struggled over the cracks and potholes in the asphalt. Even the infant and toddlers were silent (perhaps they slept).

  They’d reach 93 by twilight. Bear knew the road so well he could walk it with his eyes closed. And it was a good thing: Tonight would be a dark night. The moon, half full, would not be up till well after midnight.

  They paused for a rest. Sunlight’s last vestiges made a mauve smudge above the western peaks and a night breeze cooled their sweat. Patty gave Tommy Bear’s night-vision binoculars and sent him and Vanessa ahead into the hills, to scout for criminals and warlords. Then they got moving again. Bear walked ahead with Jonah and Margaritte, who led the team pulling the wagon. Despite Patty’s instructions, he helped haul. It was a clear, cool night, and the starlight gave them just enough light once their eyes had adapted to avoid the worst of the cracks and potholes.

  They reached 93, maybe three miles from the border. There they paused for dinner and a rest. The aurora borealis put on quite a show while they ate. Luminous purple and green veils of light rippled across the Milky Way’s pale white band of stars. The children gasped and Patty grabbed Bear’s arm. “What is that? It’s so beautiful.” Bear explained about the Earth’s magnetic field and how it created these lights. She said, “I’ve heard of these. But I think also it is a sign. We are very close!”

  They got going again. Soon, Tommy and Vanessa emerged from the trees and joined Bear and Patty, out of breath.

  “We found bandits,” Vanessa said. “Two men.” Tommy added, “On the hills above the highway. About a mile north of here.”

  Bear stood. “I’ll take care of it.” He handed Patty his shotgun. He stuck his Colt into the belt at his back and his hunting knife into his left boot, and then pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Black Label out of the trailer. “Stay here till you hear from me or until you hear gunfire. If you hear weapons, hide the kids and the trailer. Gunfire echoes far among these hills, and lots of unsavory sorts might come around to investigate. Okay?”

  “Be careful,” she said. “Tomás, you show Bear where.”

  Bear had to give Tommy credit: He knew how to move quietly. They walked along the hill’s shoulder a good long ways, then crept up a slope at an angle. Soon they observed two men squatting on an outcropping that overlooked Highway 93.

  Bear recognized them. They were Lona and Gene’s sons, Arden and Zach. The Hallorhans had left Rexford ten years ago. Apparently they hadn’t gone far. Or at least, the boys hadn’t. They were in their twenties now: big strapping men who weren’t hurting for a meal. A two-way radio Zach wore spat occasional chatter.

  Bear and Tommy listened for a while. Most of their talk was about people they both knew, including a man they called the colonel, and grumbling about their rations and duties. Bear wondered if he was the same as Patty’s el coronel. He feared it was. They both had automatic weapons and belts heavy with ammo.

  Arden said with a heavy sigh, “Man, nobody’s ever going to come by.”

  “Yeah, I bet Marco and Jay got I-15 watch. They get all the big hauls.”

  They started joking about things they had seen and done to refugee convoys that made Bear feel ill. Enough of this. He looked at Tommy and pressed a finger to his lips. Tommy nodded. Bear pried the cork out of the whiskey bottle with his teeth. He swished a mouthful of liquor around to foul his breath, and sprinkled more on his clothes. Then he staggered noisily into their campsite. They came half to their feet, then saw his face.

  “I know you . . . ” Arden said, and Zach said, “It’s Bear Jessen.”

  “Hey, Ardie—hey, Zach,” he said, slurring his words a bit. “Thought I heard somebody in the woods out here.” He sat down next to them and took a fake gulp of whiskey. “Didn’t even know you boys were still around! How are your parents?”

  The two young men looked at each other. Zach was the elder brother, and Bear guessed, the tougher. He was gazing at Bear with a puzzled expression that could quickly pivot to suspicion. “I didn’t know you were still around these parts.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah. Orla and me, we didn’t really have any place to go. Figured we’d stock up and do for ourselves, once everybody left.”

  At stock up, he sensed both young men’s attention sharpen.

  “Back at your place?” Arden asked.

  “Yup. Thass right.”

  “Orla there now?” Zach asked.

  “Yup. Bet she’d make you boys a proper meal. Wanna pay a visit?”

  The two young men exchanged a glance. “I’m up for it,” Zach said.

  “Me, too,” Arden said. They stood, and started down toward the road.

  Bear said, “Nah, it’s quicker to take the trail over the ridge. Come on.”

  He led them up to the trail, and on the way he pretended to drink. The young men had military-issue flashlights. Bear walked in front and avoided looking at the lights, to keep his night vision. To deaden theirs, he offered them the bottle, and both young men partook heavily. Soon their own steps on the trail grew uncertain and their words grew slurred.

  By this point Bear’s house stood out against the ridge, a faint black shape in the distance. The house�
�s shape was wrong. He doubted Zach and Arden would notice.

  Bear ducked off the trail at a turn and moved behind a boulder. He pulled the knife from his boot and flanked them silently. The flashlight beams bounced around as the two brothers stumbled on, boots scraping against stone. Then they slowed to an uncertain halt.

  He thought, I’m nowhere near as agile as them, and not as strong as I used to be. Need to make this quick.

  “Bear?” they called. “Hey, old man!—Hello!”

  “We lost him,” Zach said softly. “Probably fell onto his drunk old ass.”

  “Shit,” Arden replied. “He’s onto us.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Zach said, but apparently decided the same thing. “Listen here, you old fucker! Come out now or I’ll cap your ass! Or I’ll do your old lady and then cap her.”

  Bear moved up from behind a boulder, pulled Zach backward off his feet, and slit his throat. Sticky, warm fluid washed over his face, neck, and arms. He got a mouthful of blood.

  Arden came around the rock and shone the light in Bear’s face.

  “What the—?”

  He opened his mouth in a scream of rage and raised his automatic. Then he toppled and fell over his brother’s corpse with a hatchet jutting from his upper spine. He twitched. Little Tommy stood behind him, a silhouette against the stars.

  Bear suppressed his gorge, looking down at his neighbor’s sons. When they were little, they’d climbed Old Lady Pine and picked wild strawberries on the back twenty.

  War makes us all monsters, he thought, and slapped Tommy’s back. “Quick thinking. Let’s strip them of their weapons and supplies. We’ll get cleaned up in the stream and catch up with the others.”