The Next Dawn

by Cooper, C. G.

  Impossible. His hands never shook. Not once. Not ever. He fired three rounds but knew they’d all missed—all gone high.

  Impossible, impossible.

  She raised her weapon slowly with each step. She took three shots.

  She couldn’t hit him, but she could keep his head down.

  Fran could’ve fought it out toe to toe, but something about this woman so unnerved him. Battle of fight or flight.

  Flight took over. And for the second time in his life—Fran Markus ran away from Dottie Roth.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Sandy Kaplan

  It took a couple of days for the shock to wear off. Through their mental fog, they cleared away the bodies, burning them as a man who’d once been a minister said prayers over the dead. Their ashes were cast out to sea, and the Corolla survivors began to rebuild.

  Dottie trained and retrained the sentries, but Sandy had the feeling that the one who’d gotten away wasn’t coming back.

  Chuck Yarling was on the mend and gave a hand wherever he could. Sandy could see that the others responded well to Chuck’s steadying presence and the quiet leadership of Dottie Roth. It was like a piece had been missing and now that it was back, they could go on living.

  Dottie took it upon herself to question Fabian Moon, though Sandy intended to vouch for the man. He stood by as Dottie interrogated him.

  Before she started, she looked right into Fabian’s eyes and said, “I can see that you’ve lived two lives. Today you get to choose which one to continue.”

  There had been hesitation and fear in Fabian’s furtive look, but he’d nodded. And after asking for a glass of water, he’d told them everything. From his pawn shop to the present day. From selling stolen goods, to selling human flesh.

  “Well? Which do you choose?” Dottie asked.

  Fabian looked up and clasped his hands together. “I know all the wrongs I’ve done. And I won’t give you any excuses. I’ve told you everything. But I promise you this: If going forward you ever have a second doubt about who I am or what I’m doing, you can put me out of my misery.”

  Dottie bade the man to rise, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “This new world has given you a second chance, Fabian Moon. It’s for the board to decide. But as far as I’m concerned, we need every able-bodied man and woman we can find. And as soon as things have settled, I plan on hitting the road and could use some help in my search.”

  “Anything, I’ll do anything,” Fabian said.

  And so it was decided. The board was unanimous in granting Dottie custody of Fabian Moon. And for his part, Fabian lived up to his promise. If there was a dirty job that needed to be done, Fabian was the first in line. He had quite the mind for supply, logistics, and scavenging. Under his watchful eye and tutelage, they scoured the countryside for supplies, stored them so neither animal nor element could ravage their treasures. And within a month, Fabian Moon became a treasured piece of the community himself.

  He was humble, caring, and shy, but Sandy could see that something in the man had changed.

  One night, Dottie invited Sandy to dinner. When he arrived with baby Adam, Chuck and Fabian were chatting by the fire.

  “Thank you for coming, Sandy,” Dottie said.

  The others joined them. They dined on fish and roasted potatoes that one of Fabian’s search parties had found at a farm just off island.

  They enjoyed their dinner, talking about the progress of their budding community, small snippets of their past, and when dessert came around—a humble scoop of handmade ice cream of all things—Dottie finally got down to business.

  “I’ll be leaving soon. Alone.”

  That caused a stir, but it was Chuck who was the first to speak up. “This is the first you’ve said anything about this!”

  Dottie touched his hand. “Please, Chuck, let me finish.”

  Sandy could tell that Chuck wasn’t happy about keeping his mouth shut, but he did. There was great respect between the two.

  “I need to find Fran Markus, and I need to find him alone,” she said. “When I’m finished, I’ll come back, and we can work out a plan to find any survivors. I’m leaving you three as my voice. Sandy, I'm recommending to the board that they give you a seat and put you in charge of the school and the children we’ve been talking about.”

  “But I’m not qualified to—”

  Dottie cut him off with a smile and a little shake of her head. “Sandy, for Adam, it’s apparent to everyone single person in this community that you made that promise to Molly and kept that promise. That has shown all of us where your heart lies. I can’t think of a better person to teach our children how to be in this new world.”

  Sandy wanted to further explain that he was in no way qualified to take on such a job, but when Dottie put it that way, how could he complain? How could he tell her anything but yes? “Okay,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

  Then she turned to Fabian. “Help build this community into something you can be proud of, Fabian. I look forward to seeing what you’ve accomplished when I get back.”

  Chuck came last.

  “I guess I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow,” she said.

  He didn’t smile.

  “Chuck,” she said, “I've known you the longest. Everyone here knows you and they trust you. Be the voice of reason. Show others how to be kind."

  And they were all in agreement. And Dottie enjoyed her dessert the most. And before they parted for the night, Sandy marveled at how much his life was once again going to change.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Fran Markus

  He no longer took notice of the passage of days, and he’d become a subhuman, sleeping in his own filth, degraded, dejected, alone. His clothes were in tattered bits and shreds, and sometimes he’d eat from carcasses that were left by other predators.

  He barely remembered running into other human beings. Mostly he’d give them a growl and run. He ran westward for days because that was the farthest point from where he’d come.

  There had been cliffs he could jump off, rocks he could bash his head against, rivers he could drown in—but he was too afraid. He’d become the ultimate coward. If a squirrel skittered across his path, he bolted the other way.

  He tried to sleep, but nightmares always pulled at his subconscious. Demons on bat wings with the She-Devil always amongst them. Dottie Roth, Hell-spawn.

  He thought he saw her at every turn. There were days when the exhaustion was too much and he lay naked in the sun, not caring that he’d be burnt to a crisp. His skin would heal quickly anyway, and on he would go westward, always westward, though the dream of Montana was long forgotten. He no longer knew why he was running. Some nights he prayed that his body would give out, that he would finally die and get it over with. Death had to be better than this awful existence.

  But no. He was too much of a coward.

  One day he came across a family of brown bears—the two cubs playing. He walked right into the gathering, expecting to be ripped limb from limb, but it didn’t happen. The mother bear sniffed at him, gathered her young, and they were on their way. He screamed at the hawks overhead, begging them to swoop down and peck his eyes out, maybe tear out his throat with one of their talons, but they soared overhead—always watching him—and westward he ran.

  One day he saw his reflection in a muddy pool. He punched and kicked at it so hard that when he was finished the puddle was gone and he was covered in muck.

  Finally, he was done. He pleaded with nature to take him. Then he asked God to send the Devil.

  One night she came and stood over him.

  And she was calm as she was in his dreams.

  He cursed at her, spat at her. Still she didn’t move.

  “Tell me what you did,” she said plainly.

  For some reason, he told her everything—every person he killed, about how he took over the mercenary operation, about his search for her, about the fact that he’d gotten confirmation that every superpower in the w
orld was gone. Survivors were scattered over the continents, but their number pitiful compared to what it had once been. Then, as if she’d reached into his chest and pulled out his heart, he began telling her about Montana, about the fish, about the clear streams and rivers, about riding a Harley for days. He reached back to his childhood and all those singular memories—how to tie a fly, how to get a fish, how he learned. That’s when he figured he was dead, insanely dead, and good riddance to it all.

  Life had been a cock-up of mythical proportions and Fran Markus wanted nothing more than to have it all wiped away. He welcomed the nothingness. He begged for it.

  Yet, there she stood, looking at him, not smiling, not frowning, just staring.

  “Kill me,” he screamed. He pulled out his beard by the fistful, stomped his heels against the ground like a child—and still she didn’t move. He got to his knees, clasped his hands together, and begged her again. “Please kill me. Please.”

  A weapon from her side holster appeared in her hand. She pointed it at his head, and he closed his eyes, thanking whatever power now had reign over his life that it would soon end.

  The pain was brief.

  As Fran drifted away, all he could think of was gratitude.

  When he awoke, he was in heaven. That was a surprise.

  Maybe it was a trick. He reached out past the pebbled shore and touched the stream. Cold water ran through his fingers. With a jolt, he recalled his last memory and sat up, looking all around him.

  She was gone, but where was he? Was this Heaven? The stream gurgled its way by. It looked like it fed into something larger up ahead. Fran stood and took in the vista. Trees all around, leaves changing to fall cornucopia.

  When he made one complete turn, he saw the cabin. Simple thing, but far enough from the stream should it flood. There was no smoke curling from the chimney or any old man sitting on the porch. He went that way.

  There was a Harley parked on the side, worn leather, saddlebags draped over.

  “Hello,” he called out.

  No answer. Just a dead echo all around.

  He walked up the three wooden steps and saw the yellow legal pad paper taped to the log wall with a knife.

  This is the end of the road. Enjoy it.

  If you try to find us again, I will kill you.

  A signature wasn’t needed. Fran knew who it was from, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to be thankful because his body crumbled to the ground. He sobbed uncontrollably like a child.

  Epilogue

  Dottie Roth

  It was good to be home. She’d been gone a long time.

  She didn’t know why she’d done what she’d done. She would never explain it to anyone, not even Chuck. When she’d think about it sometimes, she knew it was the right thing to do, at least in her mind. That it was the first step in the right direction in this new world. It was fine if the others thought that she had killed him. She knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that Fran would rise again. He’d been a broken man, but something inside Dottie had snapped in place when she’d left him in Montana. The long drive had given her perfect time to think, for he’d been drugged the entire way. But he’d given her so much information, the location of all supply caches, over time she might share that information with her new friends. But for the time being, she figured it was probably better for everyone if they tried to make it on their own. Learn to live by their own means rather than cheating the system and having everything fed to them. Besides, their bodies were hardier now. And even through the lean times ahead, they could survive on much less than they had before.

  They threw her a huge celebration that lasted well into the night. She hated to be the center of attention. Chuck was there with her, pulling her away when someone wanted to get too chatty. And there was Sandy holding Adam. Sandy had become an easy conversationalist in something of his own humble celebrity within the community.

  Six women were pregnant now, and budding physicians in their number thought that they would probably survive like Adam, as whatever their genetic makeup they had was still immune to X-99.

  The days passed and Dottie found that even Fabian Moon was taking to his new role as scavenger/supply chief. He became a trusted confidant. And every Sunday he prepared a feast for her, Chuck, Sandy, and of course, Adam. It wasn’t much. Fabian never took from others, but kept it humble and homey, always bringing leftovers to anyone who needed it.

  Soon, the community of Corolla, North Carolina, weathered their first hurricane season and had to move inland when the hurricane hit. That made them realize the necessity of having multiple communities. There was talk of maybe expanding their reach, some survivors going north while others traveled south. Search parties were organized, and at first Dottie went with them, training each party so that they could survive out in the wild on their own, seeing that any bad elements out in the world had either been killed or disposed of themselves. Or perhaps they’d decided that being on the wrong side of society was too soul-sucking. But they were always careful, always armed.

  When they found survivors, they were cautious at welcoming. Newcomers were subject to isolation and minimal interrogation. They would never be taken by surprise again.

  Dottie and Chuck spent more time on the road than at home, but that suited them both. They made an adventure of it, became closer friends, and occasional lovers. Neither believed that marriage was something they needed to even discuss. Without saying it, they’d both come to a silent agreement that they would spend the rest of their lives together. Maybe one day die together.

  But all indications were that there were many, many years left, thanks to the secret gift left by X-99.

  A rumor spread that the virus had been a by-product of an experiment gone wrong. The virus was never supposed to see the real world, but somehow it got past the sealed doors and locked gates, and crept its way through humanity, decimating the majority, but leaving those gifted with a specific gene an increased vitality and the means for survival.

  Something about this story made sense. Dottie and Chuck both agreed that they did feel younger, virile even. Perhaps one day they would find out for certain.

  When Dottie had been back a year, she invited her closest companions for a walk on the beach. For a time, they watched Adam waddle through the sand and giggle when Sandy dangled his feet in the water. Then, as the sun was setting, Dottie broke the news.

  “Chuck and I are leaving tomorrow. We’re heading west.”

  Neither Sandy nor Fabian looked surprised.

  “How long will you be gone?” Sandy asked.

  Dottie told him that she didn’t know, but she figured that the two men got the point.

  “Would you like us to come with you?” Fabian asked.

  This man above all others had changed the most. He learned humility and now used his caring to help others.

  “I think it would be best if you both stayed here. They need you. We’ll be sending any survivors back that we find. If they want to come, Chuck and I will do the initial screening, but the rest will be left to you. I’ll tell them to find one or both of you, and that you’ll take care of them.”

  There wasn’t much to be said after that. Sandy had some questions about the board and how Dottie thought he should handle it. As he was now chairman of the board, he thought they should maybe call it something else like “the Council.” Dottie told him what she felt in her heart: He should do what he thought was right.

  When the questions were over and goodbyes were said, Dottie kissed Adam on the forehead and gave Sandy a big hug, and one for Fabian, and looked them both in the eye and said, “You know we wouldn’t be leaving if we didn’t trust you, right?”

  Both nodded. And she was sure she’d made the right decision.

  They decided to leave early before the sunrise. Chuck said it was because he always liked seeing the dawn on the road, but Dottie figured that he didn’t want to say goodbye to everyone. Chuck had become quite attached to the entire community.

>   In a way, they were sneaking off. It was their right. Besides, they’d be doing some good on their next adventure.

  Chuck put the car in drive and grabbed her hand. “You ready to hit the road, my lady?”

  Dottie smiled at him and then took one last look at the smoldering fire next to the sentry hut. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  Chuck squeezed her hand. “I think we’ve given them everything they need.”

  Dottie turned back to him. “And what about you? Are you sure you’re good with never coming back?”

  He kissed the tips of her fingers and said, “The other day, I remembered a piece by Mark Twain called, Eve’s Diary. It was a rewriting of the Adam and Eve story. Years later, after the fall and banishment from paradise, Adam is standing at Eve’s grave. ‘Wheresoever she was,’ he says, ‘there was Eden.’ So, yes, if it’s with you, I know I’ll be happy.”

  She kissed him back, and off they went, in search of a new adventure. Always living for the next dawn.

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  Also by C. G. Cooper

  The Corps Justice Series In Order:

  Corps Justice (Previously Titled “Back to War”)

  Council Of Patriots

  Prime Asset

  Presidential Shift

  National Burden

  Lethal Misconduct

  Moral Imperative

  Disavowed

  Chain Of Command

  Papal Justice