Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1)

by McAdams, K. D.

  “Sofie and Seamus, you stay here. Grace and Liam, you make your way around the building and meet me at the swing set.” He’s planning more of an assault than a rescue.

  Sofie and I watch silently as Dad cautiously walks across the parking lot towards the swing set. Liam is doing his best impersonation of a commando and Grace is just walking quickly while fishing for something in her pocket.

  Sofie is fighting an urge to charge out and join them. She pushes against me as if relying on my body for restraint. I want to tell her that Dad is a good man; he is not the one injecting fear and hostility into the world. He has every right to be cautious and we need to appreciate the fact that he’s looking out for all of us.

  When his feet touch the wood chips surrounding the swing set, Dad’s gun moves from his hand to the back waistband of his jeans. This is Sofie’s cue, and she sprints off across the parking lot. It is all I can do to keep up with her—stopping her is not an option. Liam and Grace also close in on the swing set. We will be there momentarily.

  I’m the last one to arrive, but I get there in time to hear the boy speak. “I’m from Colorado.”

  “Wow, Colorado. That’s a cool state.” Dad is getting down on a knee so he is at eye level with the little boy. “Is your Mom or Dad around?”

  “I’m three,” is his response. It takes a few seconds but he manages to get three fingers in the air to show us his age.

  “Three! I knew you were a big boy.” Dad has a way with little kids. “We would really like to meet your Mom or Dad and let them know how good you are behaving.”

  “They’re sleepin’,” he says, while looking around as if he may point to where it is they are sleeping.

  “Oh, did they lay down for a nap while you came to swing?” Dad is not afraid, but there is apprehension in his voice. Helping a three-year-old realize that his parents are dead may prove more emotional than what he had to do last night.

  “I don’t know. They been sleepin’ a long time.” The boy is nodding his head as if to confirm his statement. “Can I have a snack?”

  “Sure, I have one right here.” Grace has a granola bar at the ready. That must be what she had been fishing out of her pocket. She’s kneeling by the swing next to Dad and opening the snack for the little guy. Grace is a natural.

  “What’s your name, buddy?” Liam can’t stay out of it. At least it’s a good question.

  “I’m from Colorado,” is the reply between bites. Maybe that was the first thing Dad had asked him, and he doesn’t know or has chosen to forget his name.

  So we have a nameless 3-year-old survivor from Colorado. A leftover. The only remaining artifact from an unknown family. A remnant. “Is it okay if we call you Remmie?” I ask him. “Everyone needs to have a name.”

  Dad, Grace and Sofie look at me like I have two heads.

  Grace stands up with her arms out. “Come on buddy, let’s go into this store and see if we can find a drink and a bigger snack.” Her glare lets me know that I should keep my mouth shut, but I’m not sure why.

  He goes to her arms easily and they head off towards the store. You can see from the little boy’s face that it has been a while since he has eaten. Liam falls in close behind. We could all use a drink and something to eat, but Sofie and Dad are hanging back with me. I may be in for a lecture.

  “You can’t just rename a 3-year-old.” Dad is acting like I just set the world back to the dark ages.

  “Seriously, Seamus. Give the little kid a break. He’s malnourished, dehydrated and his parents just died. It’s okay if he needs some time before he can tell us his name.” Sofie is not impressed with me right now. Probably not a good time to ask about sharing her cottage on the beach.

  “For now, why don’t we stick with calling him ‘buddy,’” Dad says as he heads back towards the storage trailer. “If he doesn’t tell us and we don’t find any clues about his name, we can decide what to call him then.”

  Sofie is heading off towards the store and shaking her head. All I can do is sit down in the swing and wonder what I did so wrong. He’s not going to tell us his name. I don’t remember being three but I do remember when my cousins were that age. It was hit or miss getting their names out of them, a 50/50 chance at best. I’ll bet that if they didn’t hear them for two days they would have forgotten them completely.

  I guess I have always tried to shortcut social norms. But we are in a new post-apocalyptic world; social norms need to go out the window. We need to be able to cut to the chase and move on. We can’t spend energy and resources culling names out of little kids.

  Boy, do I sound like a hardass. Maybe this is another thing Sofie was talking about not wanting to be a part of.

  “Seamus! Come in here and get something to eat and drink.” Liam is yelling from the side of the store. He is not struggling with the impact of rebuilding society.

  Inside the store, there are hot dogs on rollers, popcorn and chips, coolers full of any beverage you could want. Grace and Remmie (I’m still calling him Remmie, no matter what they say) are sitting in a booth eating hot dogs and drinking chocolate milk. I can see that he has some goldfish crackers on his plate and she has a cup of peaches nearby that she’ll probably get him to eat against his will.

  Liam is walking around eating from a bag of chips and searching after the open drink he put down but now cannot find. Sofie has her head tilted back with a bottle of water. On the counter in front of her is an unopened box of Pop tarts. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. There has to be something I can microwave and then stuff into my face. I grab a water as I look through the coolers for something edible.

  Dad comes out of the bathroom and surveys the scene. He’s got a wry smile on his face and seems more than satisfied with where we’ve ended up for the day. He walks to the cooler and grabs a water before he starts to peruse the aisle for his meal.

  “After I eat a little I’m going to go out and find a car.” Dad is not addressing anyone of us in particular. “Grace and Sofie, will you keep an eye on our little friend?” His question is met with nods of their heads. “Liam and Seamus, I want you to find some bedding. I think we should sleep here tonight, but I don’t want to wake up feeling the way I did this morning,” he says with his hand on his back.

  We all just came through the same parking lot, so I know it is going to be a frustrating exercise for him. I remember seeing a few tractor-trailer rigs, a beat up old Mustang, and a pickup with no bed. None of these will get the six of us down the road together, and I know he won’t want us to split up even if we could travel in caravan formation.

  Dad is out the door with his water and a bagel and Liam pats me on the back. He’s pointing to the sign on the wall that says “Showers and Suites” with an arrow pointing to the back of the building. I never thought about it, but it makes sense that truck stops have places for drivers to crash for a few hours and freshen up.

  When we see the accommodations, “cell” seems a far more appropriate description. The “suite” is a six-foot by six-foot cube with a short bed and a tiny stall shower. An efficiency expert or designer who would never have to spend a night here was paid handsomely to lay out this space. I’m glad we won’t have to close ourselves into one of these for the night. There are eight units in total and Liam and I grab the bedding from four of them. A few extra pillows and blankets won’t hurt.

  As we get back to the main part of the building, I can see a cargo van pull up to the pumps. Dad hops out and walks around to fill it up. I guess we are all being relegated to cargo status. This is a far cry from the two Cadillac Escalades we have enjoyed up to this point in our trip.

  Part 3

  Chapter 20

  It seemed only fitting that we had to go backwards to move forward. We went back to the roadblock and the crashed Escalade to get our things. I can’t believe I had completely forgotten about my lab equipment. Fortunately even a cargo van makes the 22-mile trip fast. Dad and I made the trip alone while Liam searches for confirmati
on of Remmie’s parents and possibly his name. Grace and Sofie are organizing supplies while the kid sleeps.

  On both of the Escalades we have used to date, the Thule roof top carriers were properly mounted according to the directions. On this cargo van, they are tied through open windows and sliding around a bit on the roof. After the fire and the crash, I’m not too worried about my stuff anymore. The guns and our personal effects fit easily. It’s not called a cargo van for nothing and there is a lot more room in here than we had previously. Seating is an issue, but there is no one to pull us over for violating the seat belt laws.

  By the time we get back to the truck stop, the rest of the gang is on the swing set waiting. We are all moving mechanically as we load the food supplies into the van. There is no spring in anyone’s step. While there is no desire to spend another night here, getting on the highway and racing down the road seems to have no allure either.

  “Um, I found them.” Liam actually looks like he wants to cry. “They had a picture of him. I looked at the back but it didn’t have his name. I checked for a wallet or a purse or something, but no dice. The safe was closed so maybe they were in there.” Tears are streaming down his face, but his voice is steady.

  Dad walks over and puts an arm around him. “I know that was hard. I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

  Until now we have been spared looking at dead bodies. Dad has done all the gruesome work of checking places before we enter. I thought it was a safety check. Now I realize that he was relocating corpses. But Liam has taken a huge step. Dad trusted him with an important task and let him feel sadness, discomfort and emotional pain. Sophie, Grace, and I have still been spared the dead bodies; it’s Dad and Liam that will have those memories. It has me rethinking the roster of the grown-up team.

  “So we are just going to take him?” Sofie is questioning our next move.

  I don’t see how there can be any question. We are not going to stay here forever. We are not going to leave a 3-year-old alone. Yes, of course we are going to take him.

  “Well Sofie, Wyoming is a far cry from the beach. There is no surfcasting here and that garden of yours may not have many productive months.” Dad is somewhere between lecture and concession speech. “Are you proposing that the two of you stay here, alone, together?”

  Wait, this can’t be happening. There is no way we are leaving Sofie alone in Hillsdale, Wyoming. What can I say that doesn’t sound desperate, that makes sense, and convinces her that they have to come with us?

  “No. Of course I’m not suggesting that,” Sofie says with a confused look on her face. “I just feel like we should say something. Give him the token chance to say what he wants to do. Because...” She trails off and looks at the floor.

  “Because we never gave Sofie the choice of coming with us or not,” Grace finishes the thought. “We assumed that she would be better off with us. In some respects, we took advantage of her when she was in a state of shock from losing her parents.”

  “It sounds awful when you say it out loud like that!” Sofie is horrified that this is what she was thinking. “I am better off with all of you. I am grateful for you everyday. It just feels like it wasn’t by choice. Even if it’s pretend, let’s give Remmie a choice.”

  “You know what?” Dad looks ready to lay into all of us. His voice is raised and Mr. Nice Guy is nowhere around.

  I can imagine what he is about to say and he is right. Things are different now. You’re not always going to get to make a choice. Not everyone has a say in what happens. Choices are binary; you come with us and live, or you stay behind and die. Make the decision; don’t stand around talking about it. When we get to California, you can act like an independent, selfish adult. Then when you’re starving and thirsty come find us again and we’ll take you back in.

  A long exhale from Dad precedes his statement: “Fine. Give him the choice and then mount up. We need to get moving and get a new car.”

  Of course he agreed to come with us. He also agreed to answer to Remmie. The name thing makes it feel weirdly like abduction. No one offered him candy to come with us, but I am creeped out by the outside view of what just happened. “Hey little boy, get in our van and come with us. Let’s pretend your name is Remmie and you’re going on an adventure.” It’s the right thing, but I hope our approach doesn’t scar him for life.

  On the road I can see that Dad is not just being vain about getting a new car. The transmission in the van keeps slipping and the tires are way out of balance. There is no way this vehicle can sustain speed and get over the mountains safely. We thump along in silence, knowing that there will be another stop before we get going again.

  It’s only three exits before we see the sign for a Chevy dealership. I’m hoping that a Suburban will be our fourth and final transport for the trip. Dad heads into the dealership to get keys while the rest of us unload the cargo van. We are silent and efficient. I can’t speak for the others, but I just want the task to be over. Let’s get in the car, head down the road and veg out.

  As I untie my rooftop carriers, I wonder if I should look inside to check on my equipment. Do I want to know? If it’s damaged or ruined there is nothing I can do about it. All that will happen is I’ll be upset for a few hours and get angry about things that no one could have controlled. None of us need that. I’ll leave them closed until we get to California.

  With the rooftop carriers mounted properly and the equipment and food transferred to the back, we are ready to move out. “Seamus, why don’t you sit up front with me?” Dad is looking at Remmie while he speaks.

  I think that technically Remmie is supposed to be in a car seat, but we don’t bother. If there is another epic car crash, he won’t want to survive it. Plus with Grace’s arm around him he has a look of contentment and innocence that we are all longing for. Right now, being physically close with a human is more important than traditional highway safety.

  The mountains approach almost immediately. Though we have seen them coming since we walked away from the road block, it seems like they rise from nowhere. We have spent a lot of time in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, hiking, skiing and sightseeing, but they are nothing compared with the Rockies. It’s hard to believe that they both get to be called mountains. It doesn’t seem fair.

  After a few hours of driving and watching the breathtaking scenery, I grab Dad’s phone from the console. No bars. How long has it been since we spoke to Mom? I’m thinking it’s been at least two days. We were supposed to have met up with her last night in San Francisco. She must be worried sick, and more than a little bit angry.

  I suppose angry wouldn’t be what she felt. That’s me projecting. I’m angry that I forgot to check last night. Angry that I didn’t pick up the landline and try her. In fact, I can’t even remember thinking about her. No, Mom’s not angry. I am.

  “Thanks for trying, bud.” Dad’s glancing at me while trying to keep his eyes on the road. “I think our next conversation with Mom is going to be in person.” He’s trying to eek out a smile but it won’t seem to come. “I checked last night. Heh, I even tried the landline to see if we could connect to anything.”

  I hope they built travel delays into their plans for meeting up. I wish they would have let me in on the plan or even let me orchestrate it. Dad misses so many details and contingency scenarios. It seems like he prefers going to Plan B most of the time.

  As I think about contingencies, the first snowflake hits the window. “Seriously?” The word comes out of my mouth before I can even process what a snowflake might mean.

  “It’s snowing!” Grace hasn’t processed what snow might do to us. “Look Remmie, it’s snowing outside. Do you like to play in the snow?”

  I want to give her a lecture about the problems snow can cause us. We are not on a ski trip and there is no school to be canceled tomorrow. Snow is cold and slippery and we are not prepared for it.

  “Dad? What happens if they don’t plow the roads when it snows?” Liam asks. He cou
ld piece this together if he would spend a minute thinking about his question before speaking. But not Liam, he would rather hear the noise of his own voice.

  “Really Liam? What do you think is going to happen?” Dad normally has little patience for questioning the obvious; now he has none.

  “The road will get covered and we can’t drive?” Liam is answering as if there is a chance he is wrong. “I mean, did they ever not plow at home? Are we going to be able to keep going?” He has a concern in his head but he struggles to get it out.

  “We are going to push on while we can. If it gets dangerous, I’ll get off the highway and we can find a place to hunker down.” Dad is part communicating, part convincing himself of a course of action.

  Fortunately there is not a lot of accumulation. The snow is sticking on the grass but blows easily off the road. It seems to go on like this for hours and miles. Our top speed is down in the low 70s. It’s feels borderline safe, but I’m sure Dad considers anything slower to be the same as stopped.

  The sun is getting low and dark is approaching fast. We have already had a bad experience driving at night. Driving at night in the snow is a downright terrifying thought. I’m about to ask if we can pull over and find a place for the night when we see a billboard for the Hyatt at the Salt Lake City Airport.

  “I can’t believe it took us this long to get here,” Dad says as he fiddles with the navigation display. “I was hoping we could make Nevada before nightfall.”

  The snow has stopped and Dad has us back up to 100 miles an hour. “I think we should stop at that Hyatt we just passed the sign for.” It’s my first act as co-pilot. “It’s twenty miles away. We can be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

  “Agreed,” he says as we both look to the navigation screen like it has an answer.

  The map is still being displayed, but our vehicle location is not being modified. I can’t believe that we got the Suburban with the defective navigation unit. I look closer only to realize that it stopped hours ago, while we were in the mountains. Dad must have realized this, which is why he was fiddling with it.