The Days After (The Tenth Year)

by J. Richardson

  The black and white picture wiggled around on the television screen. A simple title read, The News and a smaller subtitle, Coming to you weekly from America's Capital. A thin man in a rumpled sports coat, his hair all slicked back, announced, “Good evening, welcome to your weekly news from the citizen's capital.” It was never really clarified; was the supposed capital Washington, D.C.? The location always referred to as the citizen's capital.

  “Continuing our restoration reports,” said the typical smooth broadcaster's voice. “Although, many troublesome towns and lawless encampments exist across the United States, we hear reports of cities and communities that have begun to re-build. Our reporter has sent us a story of a town in the center of the country that is functioning on a very successful level.” Some still photographs flashed across the screen as the anchorman spoke, pictures of streets filled with people, buildings that appeared to be open for trade. No neon or flashing signs, no vehicles captured in motion, still the impression was of an active city.

  When the slideshow finished, a second man sat at the news desk. The anchorman said, “Tell us Keith, about the town of Grand Island, Nebraska.”

  The man cleared his throat and answered, “The medium sized town is located deep in the state of Nebraska. There is a high fence wall around the city, however, they are not unfriendly to visitors. If you wanted to try and live in the town, it would be a little difficult to be accepted. There is a strict enforcement of city laws by a strong militia. Everyone is required to do the work of keeping the city running, such as the community garden and trash pickup. I saw a clean community with limited electricity and water services to it's citizens. There are small businesses and once you have contributed your share of work and goods to the community, you are allowed to operate for your own profit.”

  “That's quite interesting, Keith. Do you think this is an example of a restoration town?” said the newsman.

  The reporter reached up to a long scar that ran across his forehead, “Unlike the town that I discovered a couple of months ago that I barely got out of alive, this city is mostly peaceful and a bustling place. Most of the necessary goods for survival are available in the shops. There are small factories where clothes are made, tools and furniture are crafted and other useful items are produced. There's a hospital and volunteers provide fire protection. There's a jail, although punishment for law breaking is harsh, banishment or death seems to deter a lot of crime. They have a city government with a Mayor and a council that changes annually.” As he talked, he laid out a long handled hammer, a tall jar of preserved fruit and a hand made leather pouch that he had traded for in the city.

  “What about weapons and guns, what about the marauders such as you have reported to us?” the newsman asked him.

  “If you are a visitor, you are given a pass that you must display at all times. You have all weapons taken from you until you leave the city. Inside, all citizens are allowed to carry weapons. They have so far, been successful at keeping any raiders from entering the city.”

  The anchorman looked back into the camera, “Well, thanks for that report. We hope there will be more stories about restoration. You stay safe, Keith.” He looked down at the papers on the desk in front of him and continued, “Here in the capital, though the resources have long ago been depleted, the U.S. government continues to make an effort to reorganize and offer some assistance to the citizens. The harsh winter weather has caused the death count at the survivors camp to rise to one hundred this month. Food stores are dangerously low and several children have been stricken with measles.” He gave a few other reports; the problem with wild packs of dogs and the unsubstantiated rumors of towns that were fighting back against the raiders that roamed freely across the country. The reports ended with “Our weather report will follow and we will be out of time for this week's news. Your connection at the citizens capital bids you all a good evening.”

  A large map of the United States came up on the screen, a very thin woman in a coat with a dress hanging below it and high heeled boots pointed at various large areas and said, There will be rain and moderate temperatures here...there will be snow and cold across the center of the country and here in the capital, another frigid and miserable week for the survivors camp. Her pointer still swept across a wide area, when she said here in the capital. The camera moved in a little closer, showing the dark circles beneath her eyes and she forced a smile as the screen went black.

  “And there's the good news for this week,” Brent laughed and turned off the television.

  Plates and silverware already dotted the table by the fire. Wayne opened the lid of the dutch oven and a very pleasant aroma drifted out. “Ready pretty soon,” he said.

  Chris felt warm and relaxed, she poured them all a bit more of the heady and strong wine. Clayton paced, he stopped in front of the fire and said, “I'm going.”

  Jacob looked up at him, “What's the matter, friend...got a belly ache?”

  Clayton said, “No...no, I mean I'm going to that place on the news, to Grand Island.”

  Brent said, “What for!”

  “Why would you go there? You don't even know where it is,” said Jacob.

  “Sure, I do. They said it was in the middle of Nebraska. It can't be more than a couple of hundred miles to the south,” he said. “I think we could learn some things from them about restoring the city. I want to see what they have built.”

  Jacob was thoughtful now, he leaned forward on his elbows. Brent, as he sloshed a few drops of wine to the floor, said “Hey, you can't just take off walking in this cold weather, Clayton.”

  “Of course not,” he allowed himself to look into the questioning eyes of Chris. “I would wait a month or so, it will start to warm. I would most likely ride one of the horses, take some time to prepare.”

  Brent plopped down on the sofa and Jacob stood up, “You could do some research maybe. Clay has those old encyclopedias and there is the library. You could find out more about the location of Grand Island. I have to admit it might be a good idea, my friend. I would love to go with you, but I don't think that I can. I think we are finally making some progress at the water plant. Also, Wayne and I are making sure that Faith and the rescued women are taken care of.”

  Wayne said, “Not that Faith needs anybody to take care of her.”

  Brent laughed, “I second that, for sure,” he had experienced her competence when the general was taken out.

  Chris felt her heart jumping in her chest. She couldn't think of what to say, couldn't speak. The food was ready, her mind whirled and she filled some of the plates, they all moved to the table. Comments about the delicious meal floated around. Chris downed the last sip of her wine and blurted out, “I can go Clayton... I'll go with you.”

  Clayton looked at her cheeks flushed with the wine, her big blue eyes in the scant light of the room and he entertained thoughts that were not connected at all to his motive for wanting to make the trip.

  Wayne spoke, “Um-m, wait a minute girl. You know that it is dangerous out there. I know you are perfectly capable, but I'm not comfortable about you going on a two hundred mile trip into unknown territory.”

  “He is right, Chris. It's an unpredictable situation, I don't think that...”

  She stood up and cut off Clayton's objection, looked unblinking at him, “It's settled then. I am going with you. We'll have plenty of time to prepare and we'll be ready.” She rather cowardly did not look over to her father. Her brother sputtered and laughed out loud. She glared at him, “Brent, you go get the water on the fire, so we can wash up these dishes. Great supper, Dad.” She stacked up plates.

  The men so taken by surprise, like an unexpected stiff gust of wind had blown them over, they didn't say anymore. Clayton, finally shook his head to clear it a bit and thought, we will talk about this some more later. He looked at Wayne and guessed that the man was thinking the same thing.

  They visited for a little longer and Jacob helped get the dishes cleaned, they stacked them o
n the table. Jacob said his good nights and thanks. Clayton and Chris stood at the back door of the kitchen, the moon light beamed down on her face. He put his fingers in her curls, his palm on her cheek that was cold from the frosty air, “Chris, listen...about the trip...”

  She pulled the palm to her lips and then smiled up at him, “Not now, Clayton. We will talk about it later. Good night.”

  He stood and stared at a closed door. Dammit, he muttered to himself as he moved to his house, his boots crunched across patches of icy ground.

  ***

  In another time, in a fancy and pretentious America, it would have been described as a lovely winter white wedding in a charming rural setting. On this early March day, it was a heartfelt commitment between two people in love; observed by family and friends who trudged through the woods, with snowflakes falling heavily on their heads, to join in the celebration. Dana wore a simple white dress that her mother had made for her and tall boots with gray rabbit fur around the top that was matched by the fur at her wrists. She stood beside Ben and Lucky rested on his arm. The non denominational lay pastor from the city church acknowledged their vows, gave his blessings and pronounced them man and wife.

  The large living room of the farm shrunk with the crowd of well wishers. One of the retired military men played the old upright piano in the corner and the clamor of multiple conversations filled the high ceiling space. Chris heard a sound that had been much more common of late, the laugh of her father. He stood with Faith and a couple of the rescued women, near the fire. Jacob talked with his parents, Louis and Penny and another of the former captives, a woman that actually resembled his mother a lot. Doc jostled Lucky around and passed him on to another, the jovial toddler was being showered with attention.

  Chris moved into the kitchen, where the long table was covered with an old lace tablecloth, a big cake that Clayton's mother made, sat at one end. The remainder of the table was covered with various dishes that the guests had brought, so that they all could share a meal. Clayton and his mother stood at the sink, she rinsed off plates and he dried. Chris went to the sink, placed her hand on the mother's shoulder, “Let me take over here, you go in and enjoy.”

  “Thanks,” she dried her hands and left Clayton and Chris to the chore.

  She handed him a wet plate and said, “Have you told your parents about the trip?”

  “Didn't think it was a good time,” he said as he dried the plate and added it to the stack on the table. “I will, this week, though. I want to have a look at Uncle Clay's old books.”

  “We can go to the library, too, like Jacob suggested. Do some research on Grand Island,” she said.

  They both had a hand on a plate and he looked at her. He wanted to argue about her going with him on this journey, knew that he should. The truth was, he wanted her to go. The more he thought about it, over the last week, the more he wanted it. “Okay,” he said. She gave him a smile. Wayne is not going to like this, he thought, neither are my parents. Like it or not, looks like Chris and I are going on a little adventure.

  All the dishes were clean and stacked, they rejoined the celebration. It was a happy occasion and after the recent turmoil, everyone needed the fellowship. Many plans made that day, restorative things that would benefit the community were explored. Things such as Jacob's brainstorming about the utility services with some of the locals and Brent's big dreams with Allie for the movie theater. Also much more personal connections, many hints and possibilities of partnerships and new relationships grew in the warm afterglow of the wedding at the farm.

  Chris gazed around the room, happier than she could ever remember, yet she also had a deep seated feeling of apprehension. No doubt, the wine had influenced her bold statement of accompanying Clayton on the trip to the restored town. She was not about to back down now, her uncertainty would just have to huddle down in the back of her mind and she would ignore it. She was going on this trip and that was that.

  ***

  True to his word, when the flurry of the wedding settled, Clayton told his parents that he intended to make a trip and that Chris would go with him. His dad, always a voice of reason; as he had predicted, he doubted the wisdom of the trip and of taking Chris with him. “Son, what do you really think a trip like this would accomplish? I don't have to tell you about the dangers beyond this farm and town. Your mother and I are very fond of Chris. Frankly, I am a little disappointed that you would put her at risk.”

  “Dad, I understand your concerns. Don't think that I haven't been over and over this in my mind. As far as what might be accomplished...If the town is as successful as it was reported, I think we could learn a lot from their experience. There would also be a great benefit from having a connection, a trade relationship with them. It's really not so very far from here.”

  He paused, his hand raked through his loose hair. “About Chris...she told me that she would go on the trip. I don't think that I am in a position to tell her what to do. She is a very strong and competent young women. I wouldn't have her hurt for the world. I do need someone to partner with me. Right now, everyone that I trust has other obligations and no one is really free to leave here. It could be as long as a month to go and return.”

  A very similar conversation took place between Wayne, Chris and Clayton. After some reassurances of preparation time and the declaration that the two were going to do this, with or without support, it was finally accepted.

  With the certainty established and the family told, Clayton began to work on the details of the journey, pleased to have Chris join with him in the preparations. They borrowed his Uncle's old book and there was some basic and very dated statistics on the distant city. Hopefully, the library would offer more detailed and useful information. Today gave not a hint of warm weather to come. The bundled up pair skimmed the library files and shelves, used a flashlight to illuminate titles. They found about ten books containing data on Grand Island and they now sat in front of the fire in Chris's living room with the books stacked around them on the floor.

  Chris said, “Did you read this about the history of the town? It was originally established on an island between the Platte and Wood Rivers. When the railroad came to the area, they pretty much made a new settlement inland from the river.”

  “Interesting,” he said, “I was curious as to why the name Grand Island. Didn't think there would be an island in the middle of Nebraska.”

  They both read quietly for a while longer. Clayton closed his book and said, “You know, whatever the town was, it's not that now. I think we need to study some road maps and plot out our route. We need to concentrate on horses and supplies. Do you ride, Chris?”

  “We've never owned a horse, I've done some riding but not in a long time.”

  “Well, we can work on that at the farm. I know we can take at least one of the horses from the farm. We'll have to see about a second. The militia gained some horses from the skirmish, we could probably use one of them. It's going to take some good packing and planning to have supplies, some trade goods and our weapons and ammo. Most likely there will be lots of sleeping outside, on the ground. I want to do some research about what types of wildlife we can expect to encounter.” He waited patiently and gave her time to think about these eventualities.

  She sat cross legged, shadows flickered across her face from the fire. He said, “Are you still sure, Chris. Do you want to do this? I will understand if you don't.”

  She leaned forward to give him a kiss and the loud knock came at the kitchen door. She jumped up and went to the door. Brent said from the outside, “Hey, Sis...you in there?” She lifted the bar and let him in. The young man shook off his coat and said, “Feels better in here. What cha' doing?”

  She led him into the living room where Clayton lounged on the floor. “You guys planning your trip?” He looked at the books strewn around. “Boy, wish Allie and I were going...” Chris exchanged a look of panic with Clayton.

  “But, there would be a real s—t storm, if that was me
ntioned. Guess it won't happen,” he laughed. “Besides, we're just getting the old movie house going. Allie and I were looking yesterday at what movie we want to run, that is after we finish that comedy that got interrupted.”

  Clayton exhaled with relief, “Well if we make this contact, I think there will be more trips up ahead. Plenty of time for others to travel there.”

  After tipping over a small pile of books, Brent moved to the kitchen, “Boy, I'm starved, gotta be something to eat around here.” He opened and shut the pantry door and leaned into the open refrigerator.

  The two laughed and gathered up the books. There was plenty to do and the next month would be busy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Road Trip

  The sturdy mare pranced a little and then slow cantered to Chris's firm guidance. She had no fear of the animal, indeed she greatly enjoyed the ride. Over the last few days, she found the forgotten exhilaration of horseback riding. The weather was far from balmy but the days were beginning to wear just a hint of the warmth to come and instead of a heavy coat, she wore some layers...a t-shirt, a heavier shirt and a light jacket. Her hair swirled around in the brisk air, she leaned just slightly forward and could see the misty breath of her ride as they topped the rise at the edge of town. She pulled up the reins and breathed out a whoa-a-girl.

  Clayton eased up beside her, amused and pleased that she so quickly became comfortable with the horse. He would say that she was a natural. The view from the high point of the long bridge that spanned the Missouri River captured his attention, he studied the bridge and river for a bit. “I think the weather is getting better each day, Chris. Maybe two or three weeks and we can be on our way.”