America's Sunset: A Post Apocalyptic Fight for Survival

by Norman Christof

“It smells worse than that, Dad. It smells like …”

  “It’s the tunnels, kiddo. Everything smells funny down here.”

  Dawson crawled to the sound of Veronica’s voice. He knelt next to her, his breathing coming under control. He tried to orient himself to the room once again. The skirmish with the man had spun him around. He was disoriented. He felt along the wall enough to know he was next to the door again. Was it the right door? Was it the door they came in through? He replayed the fight in his mind. The knockdown, and the crashing into the wall. It spun him to the left, and then his opponent knocked him onto his back. That would mean his feet were pointing to the door they’d come in. Right where he’d left Veronica. Then he rained blows down on the man with his back turned to her.

  “Did you move from this door, Veronica? Is this the door we came in?”

  “Yes, Daddy, I stayed right here. I didn’t move. I waited for you to come back.”

  Dawson tried to think. That sounded right, but he had to be sure. If he exited the wrong door, they’d lose precious ground in following the pattern. His mind raced with visions of the fight, and imagining the beast rising up in the dark. Even though the darkness revealed nothing, he kept looking back towards the corpse. Finally coming back to the present, he grabbed her by both shoulders. “Are you sure?” he said firmly. Louder than he intended.

  “Yes, Daddy, I stayed right here.” She pulled away from him. “Don’t squeeze so hard. You’re scaring me. Where’s the other man?”

  Dawson loosened his grip. “Sorry, hon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s going to be OK now. Just fine. The other man left. He won’t be back.” Dawson realized that his hands were shaking. He clenched them together to calm them. He wondered how badly bruised they were, then felt a momentary appreciation for the dark.

  “It’s time to go, kiddo. Follow me. Just like we did before.” Dawson hesitated for a moment. “Actually … just hang on one sec. I need to get something.” Dawson stood, and cautiously crept back to where he’d left the beast.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” Dawson didn’t answer.

  A few steps closer, and Dawson paused, listening for sounds of life. Nothing. He moved across the floor till his foot kicked the boot of the beast. Dawson braced himself, as if about to be hit again. He strained uselessly to see the man, but only saw black. He dropped to his knees and ran his hands along the body. He found a knife holstered to the ankle, and fumbled to remove it. He found a pistol and ammunition holstered to the dead man’s belt. He couldn’t tell what kind it was, and didn’t care. He undid the belt, and wrestled the body to pull it free. He returned to Veronica, who placed a firm grip on Dawson’s new belt as they made their way to the next passageway. He walked through the center of the room, avoiding the dead beast of a man. Veronica didn’t need to trip over that. Dark or not, there’d be no mistaking what it was if she landed on top of it. They exited the room and started feeling their way along the wall once more.

  “It won’t be much longer now, kiddo. I know the way now. We’ll be home in no time. Trust me.”

  They’d gone past it the first time without even noticing it. There was a short passageway that sloped gently upwards. It appeared to be a dead end. They had to crawl to get to the end, as it narrowed to what felt like barely more than a rabbit hole. It felt claustrophobic the further they went, and they almost gave up till they saw a sliver of sunlight. It was the tiniest of slivers, barely the size of a pinprick, but after spending hours in the pitch black, it may as well have been a lighthouse.

  At the end of the passageway, Dawson turned and lay on his back to see the multiple slivers of light. This must be what it feels like to be buried alive, he thought. Staring through cracks of light at the sky above, surrounded by nothing but dirt. The light shone through rotted boards placed over the exit and covered by loose dirt. Dawson put both hands on the boards, closed his eyes and mouth than gave a great push. He expected the boards to crumble as dirt caved in, covering his face, but he was surprised. The boards held, and flipped to the side of the exit easily. There wasn’t much dirt covering the boards.

  They both squinted as they emerged into a wooded area. Based on the sun in the sky, it was only a few hours from dusk. They had spent the better part of a day down in the tunnels and emerged on the edge of the cotton fields. Dawson could just make out the farmhouse in the distance. The tunnels must have run under the entire length of the fields.

  “Everything is so bright, Dad.” Veronica shielded her eyes from the early evening sun.

  “You’re just not used to it because we’ve been in the dark for so long. Your eyes will adjust.”

  Dawson wasn’t sure why, but he placed the cover back over the exit of the tunnel. It didn’t seem right to just leave a gaping hole in the middle of the woods. Anyone could fall into it. He took note of how well preserved the cover boards were. They must have been buried pretty well under dirt, leaves and other debris to stay so pristine. It occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t the first person to exit here recently. Maybe even today. He didn’t say anything to Veronica, but kept the thought in the back of his mind.

  “Your hands look really bad, Daddy.” Dawson hadn’t even looked. He’d been so focused on their escape that he’d forgotten about the beast. He looked down, and the struggle flashed through his mind again. He’d tried rubbing the blood off as they wandered the last bits of the tunnel maze, but it hardly made a difference. Where there wasn’t blood and dirt, he could see dark blue bruising forming. Seeing his hands made his knuckles ache. They had never ached in the dark.

  “It’s just dirt,” he lied. “It’ll come off once we get back to the farm and clean up. We should get going,” he said, looking to the west. “It’s getting late, and the sun will be down soon. I think we’ve spent enough time traipsing around in the dark today. I’d rather not have to do it for a very long time.”

  Veronica smiled. “I agree,” she said enthusiastically. “The fields are pretty. They’re so white. I think they’re my new favorite flower. What kind of flowers did you say they were?”

  “Well, they’re not exactly flowers. They’re cotton. It’s more of a plant. They make clothes and other things out of it.”

  “Really?” She looked back and forth from Dawson to the fields. “But they’re all white. Where do the pink clothes come from? Is there another field with pink cotton?”

  Dawson smiled a little. “No, silly.” He reached forward to tickle her ribs. “They dye the cotton to whatever color they want.”

  Veronica backed quickly away from his bloodied hands, then awkwardly spoke with a smile. “Don’t touch me with those grubby fingers. You need to get washed up.”

  Dawson rubbed his hands against his pants then hid them behind his back. Veronica skipped off through the fields of cotton.

  Chapter 46 ~ Safer

  Dusk was just setting in as they made it to the farmhouse. Dawson had been scanning the property the entire time they crossed the cotton field. The vehicles driven by the terrorists were still parked on the property, but he couldn’t be sure any had moved. He stopped at the shed near the edge of the property and turned on the outdoor tap to wash his hands. There was only a trickle, which petered out. Running water had worked this morning, but lines were running dry with the collapse of the water tower. Veronica gave him a confused look.

  “Not to worry, kiddo. There’s plenty of water on the farm. Bert stores rainwater in the barn.”

  “It’s just dirt, Dad. It’ll come off.” She took his hand as they headed towards the barn. Dawson had hoped to see some friendly faces by the time they got back. He wondered where Chase was. He tried not to think the worst, but it was difficult. The curse of a parent’s overactive imagination. He unbolted the barn door and headed inside.

  The horses fidgeted uncomfortably in their stalls as Dawson and Veronica walked by. One pawed her hoofs aggressively at the stall doors, startling Veronica.

  “I don’t think they like me,” Veronica said.
“They seem so upset. Are they always like this?”

  “Horses are sensitive animals, kiddo. They’re good horses, just a little excitable. Once they get used to you, they’ll settle down.”

  “But they seem so upset. That one looked like it wanted to jump over the wall.”

  “Like I said, they’re sensitive. We both smell pretty bad and they sense our stress. They’ll settle down once we relax.”

  Veronica put Dawson between her and the horses as they made their way to the water tanks.

  “They’re probably hungry and thirsty from getting no attention today. Bert hides a bag of apples over there behind the saddles that he thinks I don’t know about. He says I spend too much time with them when I’m supposed to be working. Truth be told, I think he spends just as much time in here, but does it when no one’s around. He wouldn’t admit it, but half the reason he hired me for this job is because I told him about my rodeo experience. Why don’t you get the apples and feed the horses. They’ll definitely like you then. Promise.” Dawson gave her a wink.

  “Really?” Veronica grinned, then skipped off in search of the apples.

  Dawson found a bucket with the cleaning supplies and started filling it with water from the rainwater tanks. He was worried about Chase and the extra gunshots they’d heard in the tunnels. Imagining a positive scenario wasn’t easy, but he tried. Lost in thought, he almost overflowed the bucket when Veronica’s scream brought him back to reality. He knocked the bucket over and left the tap running while pulling out the Beast's pistol. For a brief second, he wished he had taken some practice shots with the weapon. That thought quickly vanished when he saw both his children held at gunpoint by Harish and Ahmed.

  “Do you really think you’re fast enough to shoot both of us with that inferior weapon?” Ahmed said, then turned to look at Harish. “I told that buffoon Idan those Caracal pistols were unreliable. It would appear he’s passed us on the way to Jannah.” He turned his attention once more to Dawson. “One thing about you Americans: you do know how to make excellent weapons of war.” He waved his American-made Ruger in the air, then turned it back on Veronica.

  Dawson’s eyes darted back and forth between Chase and Veronica. “Idan never got a round off. We found other ways to come to an understanding. I’m thinking we could come to a better compromise. Without the weapons.”

  “I’m sure that you do, Dawson Chambers, but I think you’ll find that I’m not the buffoon that Idan was.” Ahmed’s eyes stared through Dawson.

  Dawson made eye contact with Chase. “You doing OK there, buddy?” Chase nodded nervously. “Don’t you mind the adults now. You know we’re always full of nothing to say. No need to start paying attention to us now.” Dawson forced a little smile as he looked back at Ahmed. “How about you just let the kids go and we talk this over like men? There’s no reason for the kids to be involved.”

  Ahmed laughed as Harish shifted his gaze between Dawson and Ahmed. “It’s funny how the priorities of you infidels shift when things aren’t going your way. Now all of a sudden the lives of a few insignificant children are important.” Ahmed shook his head, looking around the barn. “Of course, they’re significant to me only as tools of leverage.”

  Dawson kept his pistol lowered. “They’re just innocent kids. They have no part in all of this … whatever it is you want. You have me. Let them go and we can discuss this like men.”

  “You’re in no position to be negotiating terms to me, Dawson Chambers. Besides, I think this could be very informative for the children. They may actually learn a thing or two about their father before they die.”

  “No!” Dawson cried out, taking a step towards them. Ahmed shook his pistol at Dawson, halting him in place.

  “No further, or this becomes a very short lesson for all of you.” Ahmed trained his weapon back on Veronica, and Dawson retreated a step. “They should know what kind of a man their father really is … what horrific things he’s done to the children of other families.” Dawson remained silent. “No denial of the terror and nightmares you and your conspirators inflicted on a generation of children? Have you heard the stories of all those orphans … the ones that survived at the hands of your murdering colleagues?”

  “We were soldiers doing what we were ordered to do. You can’t hold us personally responsible for following orders. The decisions weren’t ours. Command screwed up that mission with bad intelligence, not the guys in the field. There shouldn't have been women and children.”

  “How ironic; your choice of words that is. Just a soldier following orders. You talk like you were no more than a dog on a leash following its master’s bidding. Like you had no brain in your head … no conscience … no morals. You knew exactly what you were doing. You and your fathers before you knew.” Harish stared at Ahmed, trying to get his attention, but Ahmed had eyes for no one but Dawson. “I’m a soldier too, you know. I have commanding officers, and I have orders to follow. Do you know what my orders are? Do you know what kind of intelligence my commanders received? Does that make it OK for me now to come into your country, your home, and point weapons at your children? To make orphans out of your sons and daughters? You and your leaders have been coming into my home and committing atrocities for generations. Why shouldn’t I do the same? What makes your children more important than my father’s children?”

  Finally Harish spoke up. “Ahmed, we need to hurry. Why are you dragging this out? The longer we take, the greater the chance that we are found out.”

  Ahmed smiled at his brother. “We’re at the end here, Harish. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter whether we are found out or not. We’ve completed the mission the Imam laid out for us. We will find our eternal salvation. You can stop worrying now. We’ve made it.”

  They heard the sound of a gas generator starting up, and the lights inside the barn kicked on as the sun set outside. Chase felt Harish loosen his grip as the gravitas of Ahmed’s words sunk in. Doubt crept into Harish’s mind … was he ready for the end? Chase sensed the opportunity and acted. He reached back for Harish’s weapon, but Harish pulled back and his gun went off, hitting the lights above. Sparks flew, and a few lights went out. The horses, already agitated by the unwelcome visitors, started braying loudly and kicking at their stall doors. Ahmed raised his gun and fired two more shots into the air.

  The horses reared up and pawed at their doors. One horse, though, was calmer than the others. The brass plate on his door was old and tarnished, barely readable; it said Hero. Hero didn’t make a sound. Hero didn’t charge at his stable door. He knew where Bert hid the apples and he knew how to open the latch on his door. Using his nose, he nudged the inner latch to just the right angle, then applied pressure with his front leg till the door clicked open. The aisle between the stables was crowded, loud, and full of different smells tonight. Hero didn’t worry about them. He headed off at a slow gallop down the aisle, towards the crowd.

  Ahmed heard the sound of hoofs and pulled back out of the way with Veronica before being knocked down. Harish wasn’t so lucky as he struggled with Chase. Hero knocked Harish and Chase, sending them flying hard into an empty stable, crashing into the end wall. Hero never slowed down, as he charged for the open barn door and freedom.

  Dawson charged Ahmed, knocking them both to the floor. Their pistols flew free, clattering across the barn. Ahmed’s slid under a stable door while Dawson’s stopped in a pile of wet hay next to an upturned bucket. Dawson got his hands around Ahmed’s throat briefly, before Ahmed broke his grip and punched Dawson twice in the head. Dawson rolled away while Ahmed got to his feet, kicking Dawson in the side, and lifting him off the ground.

  Veronica screamed, “Daddy!” from where she stood in the middle of the stables, afraid to go near the horses.

  Ahmed was the bigger man, filled with a lifetime of hate learned in childhood and baked in by the desert. He'd been fighting his entire life. Nights alone in the desert with nothing but the clothes on his back taught him to be mentally tough and physically r
esilient. He’d bury himself in the sand to stay warm in spite of the biting ants and scorpions that treated him as an invader. His dreams were plagued with pain, but nothing compared to the pain he would inflict on his victim today.

  Dawson, choose to bury his pain in a bottle. Before the drinking though, there was the rodeo. An arena filled with animals big enough to crush the toughest of men into dirt. Pain wasn’t a stranger to Dawson either. His military training seemed a distant memory, but fortunately for Dawson his muscle memory hadn’t been washed away by the tequila.

  Dawson rolled away from Ahmed’s kicks, then reversed and rolled back, knocking Ahmed off balance. Dawson got his feet under him. Still shaking off the fog induced by Ahmed’s punches, Dawson took a second to steady himself. Almost a second too long. Ahmed charged him as Dawson straightened and shifted his weight. Ahmed glanced off him, falling shoulder first into the stable door of a bucking stallion. The horse narrowly missed kicking Ahmed’s head. Out of the corner of his eye, Dawson could see Harish staggering out of a stable. Dawson couldn’t see Chase, but didn’t dare take his eyes off Ahmed, who was charging hard. Dawson stopped him abruptly with two straight arms to the chest. Before Ahmed could recover, Dawson drove his elbows into Ahmed’s collarbones and locked both hands behind Ahmed’s neck in a clinch. Sensing movement behind him, Dawson pulled down hard on Ahmed’s neck, swinging him into Harish, knocking him to the ground. Keeping one eye on Harish, Dawson delivered knee kicks in rapid succession to Ahmed’s head and torso. Ahmed fought to pull free from the neck clinch, but Dawson held on like he was riding a wild bronco. He used Ahmed as a shield between himself and Harish. Harish couldn’t land a blow, but could see his brother weakening. The body blows were taking a toll on Ahmed; he was barely on his feet. Harish came around quickly in an attempt to flank Dawson, but ended up the recipient of a rugged roundhouse kick to the stomach. He gasped for air.

  Dawson sensed that Ahmed was about to collapse, so he tossed him like a rag doll in the direction of the water tanks. He slammed hard into a support beam, then collapsed on a pile of wet hay. Dawson turned his attention to Harish, who had returned to the empty stall, presumably in search of either Chase or a weapon. Dawson raced to get to Harish before he found either, just as Harish's face morphed from an expression of anger to despair. Dawson crouched to attack, but Harish slumped his shoulders, and stared past Dawson to Ahmed. Harish walked right past Dawson, totally defenseless. Dawson's eyes followed Harish's eyes. Ahmed’s body twitched in spasms in the wet hay, his eyes wide open in a death stare. One of the lights that had been shot out lay next to Ahmed. The bulb was shattered, but the exposed wiring sent electricity coursing through the pooled water and wet hay. The smell of burnt flesh mingled with the smell of horses.