Evergreen

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “You cold, Termite? Want my sweatshirt, too?”

  “No.” Madison clutched the iPhone to her chest. “I think I need to charge it.”

  The apartment road ended at the next cross street. Ahead, a stone wall dotted with small decorative cubes jutted out from a big hill, too high to see over. She veered to the right, following a sidewalk up to a dirt trail, then cut left past some trees. A momentary thinning of the haze in the air offered a hint of the sun’s location, so she put her back to it, hopefully going west.

  “Home’s the other way.” Madison stopped where the dirt path met sidewalk. “I wanna go home.”

  Harper took a knee in the soft ash, eye to eye with her sister. “I’m not going to let the bad people hurt you. Do you understand that?”

  Madison nodded.

  “If we go back there, the bad people will find us.” She balanced the shotgun in one hand and squeezed Madison’s arm. “Mom and Dad would want us to stay safe. And right now, staying safe means going to Evergreen because there’s good people there.”

  Madison stared down at her ash-covered feet.

  They stood for a moment without speaking, the eerie silence of a city without a single working vehicle broken by distant shouts and a gunshot or two.

  “Mom’s gonna take me to dance class.” Madison kicked at the ground.

  Again, the image of Dad firing his AR-15 at the man pulling a gun on her replayed in her mind. Another guy slipped in the patio door at that second, shooting him in the back. Mom lay slumped over the kitchen sink, already gone, a giant knife sticking out of her.

  None of this seemed real anymore. Not this ash-covered street, not spending two months living out of her basement, not ash falling from the sky like snow, not her parents dying in front of her, not her kid sister retreating into this robotic shell.

  “Come on.” Harper took Madison by the hand and dragged her onward.

  At any second, one of those crazy bastards might put her right back in that same situation she’d found herself in days ago, and she no longer had a father to save her ass. If—no when—it happened again, she’d have to kill someone…

  Or die.

  2

  Surviving

  Harper hurried along under the raining ash and haze, heading as west as she could manage without being able to see the sun—or even the mountains.

  They rushed past more apartments, crossed swaths of dirt where grass had burned away, and navigated the char-blackened remains of trees. Madison remained quiet, except for the occasional cough or attempt to make Siri call her friends or parents.

  Hours after waking, they reached a residential neighborhood full of houses, a pleasant sort of suburban area full of two-car garages like something out of a sitcom. One surviving street sign read S. Youngfield Circle. The houses here all looked huge, way bigger than the one she’d grown up in. In response to a twinge of hunger, she approached the nearest house on the corner. The street-facing side had scorched almost entirely black and bore numerous holes from flying debris. It occurred to her at that moment she could use the burns to navigate. The warhead, according to what she overheard her father talking about, had detonated in Colorado Springs to the south. So, any wall that looked melted or blackened had to face south.

  Whoever had lived here had fled, leaving the door open.

  “Let’s check inside. I’m a little hungry.”

  Madison shrugged.

  Harper headed straight to the kitchen. She ignored the fridge and raided the cabinets, grabbing a few cans of Progresso soup. Neither the electric stove nor the microwave worked. Even the wall clock had stopped at 5:53. She stared at the mechanical hands, thinking back to Dad dragging her half-awake ass out of bed. That he barked at her to move while physically hauling her down to the basement had terrified her. The man had barely raised his voice to her in the past seventeen years. Even without words passing between them, for him to practically carry her said something had gone very wrong.

  She’d been so dumbfounded she hadn’t even managed to ask what was going on before the roar came.

  Harper blinked, once again finding herself staring at the plain white hands of a dead wall clock, stopped the moment the EMP wave hit.

  Scuffing, gritty footsteps approached her from behind. “TV won’t turn on.”

  She rested the shotgun on the counter, then glanced at Madison, who still wore a completely neutral expression. One of the drawers contained a manual can opener. Out of laziness, she used it instead of the one in her backpack. “A lot of things are broken.”

  “Is that why you’re using the grandma can opener?”

  “Yep.”

  Harper took two bowls from a cabinet and dumped a can of soup into each one, chicken for her, vegetable for Madison. She carried them to the table, went back for the shotgun, and sat, laying the weapon on the table to her right. It felt so strange to be sitting in someone else’s kitchen, with a loaded Mossberg in arms’ reach like some other normal bit of table setting. Madison trudged over and took the chair beside her, still clutching her iPhone to her chest.

  Her sister stared at the bowl for a minute or so before frowning. “The soup is cold.”

  Harper ate a spoonful. “I know. The stove doesn’t work.”

  “Microwave it.”

  “The microwave is broken, too.”

  Madison swung her feet back and forth. One of her flip-flops fell off. “Mom’s gonna yell at us if we eat it right out of the can.”

  “We’re not eating it out of the can. That’s a bowl.”

  “Duh. I meant it isn’t cooked. I want hot soup. I’m cold.”

  “We’ll look upstairs after we eat. This is a huge house. They might’ve had a kid. Maybe there’s some clothes your size.”

  Madison tucked the iPhone into her jacket pocket. She spent a moment making faces at the soup but eventually started eating. After three spoonfuls, she glanced over. “Is there soda?”

  “Ugh. If I open that fridge, we won’t be able to eat anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Everything in there will be spoiled and stink.”

  Harper got up and approached the sink. Is the water going to be radioactive? She held a glass under the faucet and turned it on. The flow seemed weaker than it should be, but clear water did come out. She held the glass up to stare at it, thinking about one of her science teachers mentioning water acted as a radiation blocker, which is why they used it in nuclear reactors. That water did become radioactive, but only after prolonged exposure to a strong source of radiation. A distant missile exploding probably wouldn’t have irradiated the water too much to drink.

  We’re probably both going to get cancer in ten years anyway… if we even survive that long.

  She carried two glasses of water back to the table. Madison picked hers up in both hands and chugged most of it in one go. They ate fast and quiet, scraping as much of the soup out of the bowls as they could.

  Once they finished, Harper set the dirty bowls in the sink and proceeded to search the house. As expected, nothing electronic worked. Some things, like the television or computer monitors looked obviously blown out and burned. Whoever lived here before had owned a nice stereo, but the rack components had caught fire—fortunately, it went out on its own and didn’t take the house with it. Or maybe the people had still been here when it caught fire.

  Or they’re still here in the basement like we were.

  Harper clutched the shotgun tighter.

  In a pantry cabinet, she found a huge bag of assorted candies marked with a Post-It note that read: ‘do not touch until Halloween.’ Harper closed her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Who buys Halloween candy in September? Madison had been looking forward to trick-or-treating as Wonder Woman… but October 31st had come and gone without anyone even noticing a week or so ago. The temperature probably hovered at ‘not quite fifty,’ too cold for Madison to be running around in shorts and flip-flops. Too cold for them to be sleeping outside. She needed shel
ter, blankets, something.

  But, not here. Not this close to Lakewood.

  She took the giant plastic bag of candy and mushed it into her backpack. Sugar equaled energy. Plus, it’s not like anyone would ever make more. At least, not for a long damn time if ever. Dad’s radio had lasted long enough that morning—about twelve minutes—for a news guy to mention nuclear detonations all over major cities like Washington DC, New York, Los Angeles… she didn’t think much of the First World remained. Manufacturing candy seemed pretty low on the list of priorities given the state of everything, which made it precious.

  Having no interest in anything else downstairs, Harper hurried up to the second floor, her sister following in no great hurry. Two immaculate guest bedrooms suggested the former residents didn’t have kids, or at least any kids they had grew up and left. She grabbed a comforter from one bed and wrapped Madison in it like a cloak.

  In the master bedroom, she discovered a gun safe in the closet—but couldn’t open it. However, she found three boxes of shotgun shells on a shelf next to it as well as boxes of pistol and rifle bullets. She dumped the shells loose into her enormous purse to save space, but left the other bullets alone. No sense carrying heavy ammo she couldn’t use.

  A male voice murmured something downstairs.

  Harper froze.

  Madison looked up from the dead iPhone screen with a worried expression.

  When the voice muttered again, Harper crept to the bedroom door.

  “Yeah, this is the one,” whispered a man from downstairs. “Saw a girl go in here.”

  “Still here?” asked a different man.

  “Yup. Didn’t see her leave.”

  Crap! Harper spun in place, searching for a hiding spot. Under the bed didn’t work, neither did the closets. She swallowed hard, clutching the shotgun, not trusting that she wouldn’t hesitate again. I’m only seventeen! I shouldn’t be shooting people.

  She raised the shotgun, aiming down the hall toward the top of the stairs. Shooting them is going to be loud. It could attract more. The second guy might shoot back. I shouldn’t fire as soon as I see the first man. Maybe I should back up and jump out to surprise them? She thought about the competition course she used to run with the pop up targets. Springing out into the hall and rapidly shooting two pie-plate sized targets—someone’s heads—would be easy. Except for them being people. Harper started to turn back to look at the room, but froze when she spotted a two-by-two foot slatted cover at the end of the hall, the intake for the house’s central air. The passage appeared big enough for them to crawl into.

  Perfect!

  Harper rushed over and pulled the vent cover open, exposing plain ductwork. Madison ran out of the comforter and crawled in, taking the backpack so Harper could both fit and keep the shotgun ready. She snugged the cover back in place barely ten seconds before a man in a black T-shirt emerged from the top of the stairs. A scrap of blue cloth around his neck like a redneck version of an ascot identified him as one of them. She didn’t know if they considered themselves a gang, an army, or if they had any sort of name for themselves. Dad called them a gang, and well, they acted like one. Only, instead of selling drugs or robbing places, they took over.

  As slow and quiet as she could make herself be, Harper scooted back from the opening, keeping the Mossberg aimed. If he noticed them in the air intake, she’d have to fire. The shotgun trembled in response to her shaking hands.

  The man eased himself off the stairs and approached the first door on the left, sneaking along in an effort to surprise the girl he believed to be there. Upon reaching the room, he leaned on the doorjamb to peer in. The instant his head went out of sight, she edged farther back, pushing Madison deeper.

  Whew. He didn’t see me.

  A tiny finger jabbed her hard in the side, but Madison didn’t say anything.

  Harper risked a peek back over her shoulder.

  Her little sister pointed at a drop where the intake duct took a ninety-degree bend straight down… probably all the way to the basement. Another inch or two and Madison would fall thirty feet. The flimsy screen at the end of the curve where the duct became a vertical drop wouldn’t absorb the weight of a child.

  Eep! Harper edged forward to make more room. Madison tucked up behind her. Caught between a deadly fall and two men who’d no doubt do unspeakable things to both of them, Harper trembled, screaming in her mind for her father.

  The man crossed the hall to the next guest room as a second, darker-skinned man in a winter coat came up the steps. He had an AK47, but held it sideways in a casual posture like he didn’t plan on using it any time soon. Harper stopped breathing.

  Both men came closer, within five feet of the vent cover.

  A tiny snap came from behind.

  Harper jumped, almost pulling the trigger.

  They didn’t notice the noise and continued into the master bedroom.

  She swallowed all the saliva in her mouth, trying not to shake hard enough the shotgun rattled and gave her away. It seemed so surreal that three months ago she could’ve run into those men anywhere and probably carried on a normal conversation. Would they have been thinking about kidnapping her then, too? Did nuclear war make them stop caring about common decency or had they been creeps the whole time?

  “Shit, Ed. Ain’t no one in here.”

  “Was,” said the other man. “What’s this blanket doing on the floor?”

  “You’re seeing shit. And that’s a comforter, not a blanket.”

  “Aww, suck my dick. Who the hell cares what the shit we call blankets? And I’m not seeing things. That girl had long red hair. Nice ass. Little on the young side but old enough.”

  Madison held the iPhone over Harper’s shoulder, pointing at the mute switch, which she’d activated.

  “Screw it, Ed. If you did see someone, she’s gone. Might as well at least grab what we can from the kitchen.”

  The dark-skinned guy walked out of the master bedroom, shaking his head.

  Ed, armed only with a handgun on his belt, ran after him, wallet chain swaying at his side. “Ajay, wait. There’s a girl in here somewhere.”

  “Did you look under the bed. Closets?” Ajay stopped and spun around.

  Harper held as still as she could. If Ajay saw her through the slats, she’d have no choice but to shoot him.

  Ed grumbled and went back into the master bedroom. The clatter of closet doors followed.

  “I’ll check the other ones.” Ajay tromped into the nearer guest room.

  Crap. Please go away. Please don’t see us. Harper struggled to swallow with a dry throat. Again, she pictured faceless men grabbing Madison and assaulting her while she screamed and begged them not to. She imagined the men being cruel and forcing her to watch them hurting her sister to build up disgust and anger, enough she might be able to shoot them if she had to.

  A creak came from the Mossberg’s pistol grip.

  I will not hesitate. I can’t hesitate. They will not touch her.

  The men moved to the second guest room, yanking open closet doors and kicking stuff about.

  “Dammit,” said Ajay. “If there was a girl in here, she got past us and is long gone.”

  “Swear I didn’t see anyone leave.”

  “Hell with it. Let’s grab what we can and keep going.”

  The men rumbled down the stairs.

  Holy shit! Harper couldn’t bring herself to let go of the shotgun, but lowered the barrel tip to rest on the floor. She sat there listening to random banging and rummaging from downstairs, until at long last, the two men exited the house.

  Harper finally pried her left hand off the shotgun, squeezed her sister’s leg where it stretched past her, and whispered, “We should wait a little while before we move, in case they come back.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  Madison leaned closer, her lips at Harper’s ear. “I gotta pee.”

  3

  Papa Taco

  Hearing the word ‘
pee’ made Harper have to go, too.

  She peered down at the shotgun, the weapon she could have used to save her father’s life. Well, technically save her own life. If she’d shot the guy coming after her, Dad wouldn’t have needed to spin around and take his attention off the patio door. He’d still be alive. They’d still be at home—or more likely hurrying to Evergreen with him. Nothing Harper could’ve possibly done would have changed what happened to Mom.

  Her hands started shaking at the memory of her father, mortally shot, returning fire rapidly out the patio door while screaming at her to run. She had no idea if he hit anyone, but he bought her enough time to grab Madison and get out. Dad used his last breath to tell her to run and she’d done exactly that—after he collapsed to the floor.

  She picked at the texture on the pistol grip, then teased her finger at the trigger. One tiny piece of metal could have made the difference, if she hadn’t been such a chicken.

  Who am I kidding? I can’t kill anyone. I almost had a breakdown that time I shoplifted on a dare.

  “They’re gone,” whispered Madison. “Can we go to the bathroom now?”

  “Okay.” She crawled out of the vent—mostly to get her sister away from a likely fatal fall.

  Madison followed, pushing the backpack of canned food ahead of her.

  After a brief stop at the upstairs bathroom, Harper picked up the comforter again and rolled it into a log. If her sister tried to wear it like a cloak, it would drag on the ground and pick up all sorts of glass shards, ash, and other nastiness. Of course, the two of them already looked like they stood ten feet away from a grain silo explosion, covered head to toe in pale grey ash. At least she could save the comforter for sleeping warm. She grabbed some curtain string from one of the guest rooms and tied it into a bedroll, then hung it on the backpack.

  The master bedroom had ‘old people clothes,’ none of which would fit Madison well, though a sweater made for an improvised dress that would keep her warm—or at least warmer than shorts. Once outside, Harper used the burned sides of houses as a compass and traveled as ‘west’ as she could guess.