by Tara Brown
December 25th
Lou
This place is a lot like home in Laurel. Winter officially arrived at the end of November and it’s cold, windy, and dry. And now the town, which is becoming a city faster than we are prepared for, is always lit early with the glow of candles and lanterns. The smell of wood smoke settles in the valley, creating a wandering haze that seems to move even when there is no breeze.
Gazing out from the very top of the small tower, it’s obvious our efforts have paid off. We’ll make the winter and spring and be ready to start the spring harvest. The accommodations are a bit tighter, with more people living together in houses and the castle than was intended, but by summer we’ll have that taken care of.
One thing this part of Canada seems to have an abundance of are mills with already-cut wood for building. We found trucks full of them along the highways. Same as food and other supplies.
We’ve also been lucky with the people who live here; most are talented in something useful. And those of us who aren’t skilled, work hard physically.
Thinking about it draws my gaze to my rough hands. Splitting wood and making bows and arrows and doing all the things my dad taught me is creating calluses everywhere.
But every time I finish another project, I imagine he’s watching over me, knowing he gave me what I needed to survive. And to keep Joey alive.
I hold my hand out the large window and let the snow fall on me.
In peaceful moments like this, when my mind quiets down, I’m certain I still hear the bots plotting.
Thinking about them brings me back to the questions I don’t have answers for, like where is Harold? Why did he leave and never come back? Did Liam kill him and not tell me?
How did the bots suddenly heal Tanya when all along they were useless inside her? Someone said they saw lightning and heard thunder in the clouds above us and that was how the helicopter went down. Lightning. But no one knows for sure. And now we never will. We don't live in a world of answers anymore. There are no easy ways to research or Google or ask specialists.
Also, why didn’t Mr. Milson survive? Why did he die when so many others lived?
I think of him often, how he saved us in those first days. And I have to be happy for him because he and Mrs. Milson are together again.
I also question whether or not we’ll be able to do this. What happens if someone comes to attack? What happens if a sickness rolls through the city? Because if I’m honest, this all feels too good to be true and we should suffer some more.
But maybe we’ve suffered enough.
Gus lifts his head from where he’s sleeping as if he heard something.
“You ready?” Lee asks as she comes in still wearing her guard’s uniform. She’s in charge of them like she was before. Erin is her second in command, which is interesting in all the best feminist ways.
“Yeah, is everyone else down there already?”
“Liam is pacing as usual. He’s like a wild cat. A panther in a cage.” She cracks a grin. “Sasha is coming over from the clinic with Leah and Tanya’s mom any second. Other than that, I think everyone is downstairs.”
“Our first Christmas feast,” I say it but I still don’t believe it.
“I think it’s going to be awesome. Dinner and cider and beer.” She smiles wider when she says beer.
“How’s Kyle?” I ask, scared of the answer. He’s been so cool lately, not at all awkward or weird. He eyes up Liam every time they’re in a room together, but it’s gotten less hateful.
“Good.” Lee stops there.
“No details?”
“No, it’s weird. You and him and me and Liam. It’s weird.” Her cheeks blush.
“It is weird.” I laugh and follow her to the door. “Come on, Gus.” I slap my leg and he slowly gets up, stretching and grumbling like a dragon.
“But Liam gave everyone in the castle three days off, today and tomorrow and the next day. People are celebrating in their own homes. Some even have Christmas trees or Hanukkah menorahs and Kwanzaa candles. I heard a few of them managed to get ukuleles and are going to be playing music at the pub tomorrow night.”
“Let me guess, you’re going?” I can’t stop. I don’t feel a single thing for Kyle beyond being his friend. In my strangely altered mind, he and I never happened. It’s like a dream I had that never became anything more. So I can’t help but find this exciting that the two of them are starting something.
“Of course. Everyone is going.” She sighs. “Stop talking about it.”
“Fine,” I grumble and follow her to the main floor where voices are echoing into the halls. We find them in the dining room, our entire family: Tanya and her mom and Mason and Mitch. Jeff and Bev. Erin and Miles. Jamie and Sasha. Leah and Davis and their kids. The Littles. Buster and Gus. Kyle and maybe Lee, if this cold winter goes right. Liam and myself. And Lester.
“We ready then?” Liam asks from the head of the table he had drones make in the summer. It’s stunning and decorated in a way that makes me smile. I think the kids did it. Napkins are clumsily folded and placed inside wooden rings and the cutlery has the mismatched effect only a child could do.
My eyes dart to Leah who gazes at them all with pride. She really is the best.
Everyone takes a seat at the huge table. There’s just enough room for us all, and Lester and Davis make it so it’s a bit tight where they’re sitting.
Liam is at one end of the table and I am at the other. It’s weird being so far apart. He smiles at me, lifting his drink. “I don't really pray, but let’s toast.”
We all grab the mismatched glasses we stole from a Walmart in a nearby town.
“Just over a year ago, ninety percent, by our estimate, of the world’s people died or were altered. Some of us were not affected by the outbreak. Others changed for the better.” He lifts his drink to Lester who I’m not sure understands what he’s saying. “We became slaves to these bots that infected us, some feeling the effects of them more than others.” His cheeks blush and his eyes lower for a moment. “And in the end, humanity, our actual humanity, was saved by a man who is no longer with us. That man is the reason we all sit here now. I would like to toast Dr. Jacquard, and I would ask that each of us toasts someone who made certain we made it to this moment.”
He’s getting better and better at this. He’s truly kingly.
He raises his glass and we all say, “Dr. Jacquard.”
Kyle stands next. “Dr. Stoddard.” His eyes find mine. We share a smile and a memory no one else has. I’m grateful for the ability to remember my dad with Kyle.
His name is the next one we say together.
As it goes around the table, names of people I never knew are spoken, Louis, Grace, the old man at the gas station and Sharon. But there is one name I will always carry in my heart. Mr. Milson. He saved nearly all of us at one point or another.
Eyes are misty and smiles are made of pressed lips by the time we sit. But the sadness doesn't last, because the gratefulness is too overwhelming.
It’s an amazing first Christmas meal. Wild turkey. Sourdough stuffing with herbs from the garden. Yams baked with Canadian maple syrup and butter. Mashed potatoes with chunks of garlic in them. And red wine we stole from one of the liquor stores we raided at some point. There are dinner rolls and thick gravy. It’s heaven.
If you had asked me fourteen months ago where I saw myself, I never would have said living like this. I’m not an American anymore. I’m not a Canadian. If we have guessed correctly, there’s not even a million people on the planet. Gas is becoming a thing of the past as the tanks are drained or it expires. Eventually, there will be no more stores to raid and the supplies that were made during our era will fade into memory. And we will have to be ready for that. A moment when canned cranberry sauce isn’t found covered in dust in an old store with no lights.
We won’t always be able to pick the batteries out of every single thing we find, steal laptops from houses, or drive cars until they’re dry.
For now it’s our life, but those last remnants of the twenty-first century are slowly fading, very slowly.
They will eventually become nothing, relics taken back by nature. Vine and plant covered, rust from the elements destroying them, and overgrown to the point the next generations might not even see them.
The road ahead is long and scary if I think too far. But here tonight, sitting with my family under the candlelight of these stunning chandeliers and with a plate full of hot food, I am grateful for the first time. I understand the term now more than ever.
We eat and drink and laugh and I’m stuffed beyond belief by the time we have cleaned up and are blowing out the candles.
We all kiss each other goodnight. Even Kyle and I manage a hug before he goes back to the brewery where he has made himself a small house in the back. It’s progress.
When I’m upstairs and after I have the Littles tucked in, I sit in the window, staring out at the snowy night, brushing my hair before putting it into the braids. I have discovered braids save lives. There’s no frizz in the morning.
It’s quiet and peaceful seeing the snow fall, especially on Christmas.
“You ready for bed?” Liam asks as he comes into the room, but there’s something in his tone.
“Yeah. I’m pretty full still, but definitely tired. You?”
“I’m not tired. I should be, but there’s something I need to do first.” He walks to where I am and sits next to me. The soft glow of candlelight from across the room dances on his face.
“What, did you forget to finish something?”
“No, start something.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. It’s tiny and wooden and carved. It’s not perfect so I have to assume the drones didn't do it.
“Start what?” I ask, confused by the weird little box.
“Start our new life.” He cracks open the box to reveal a small silver ring. It has a red stone in the middle of it and cool carvings along the band.
I lift my gaze to his, heat rising in my cheeks as the obviousness of this moment hits me.
There’s a story in his eyes. It’s one of hope and love and maybe fear. “Lou, I love you. I love you more than I thought I was capable of. I used to mock people like me, people who would do anything for the person they loved. I saw love as weakness, and I have never seen myself as weak. But being with you, I don't think that way anymore. I think love is strength. And you make me stronger. Will you marry me?”
The question is crazy.
Not just because I’m not even twenty and he’s only a few years older. But also because we haven’t gone to college or bought a house or chosen a career. My parents can’t help me decide my life and I’m positive things like me shouldn’t reproduce with things like him.
His eyes are wide, my silence tormenting him.
“Yes,” I say after a minute.
He exhales relief and nods. “Okay, you were scaring me there for a second.”
We sit and stare at each other for a heartbeat or two, maybe both of us watching the candlelight flicker in the eyes of the other person.
He loses all the fear and smiles, it’s his sweet smile. The one that has no agendas behind it. My favorite.
“I love you too.” I lift my hand for him to put the ring on. His fingers twitch when he lifts it out of the wooden box and slides it on me. Of course it fits perfectly. He’s that stalker.
“Should we do it tomorrow?” he asks impatiently as if that’s even an option.
“No.” I gasp, pulling my hand back. “Spring. We need to prepare for it. I’ll need a dress and shoes and bridesmaids.”
He recoils a little. “You’ve never seemed like the kind of girl who would care about that stuff.”
“You wish.” I lift my eyebrows and tilt my head. It’s a look my mother gave my father every time he said something stupid. “I was never a girl who planned her marriage and wedding, but I still want to do it right.”
“Okay, but does it have to be a full public spectacle?” He sounds worried and it’s adorable.
“Absolutely.” I grin. “You wanted to be king. Now you’re going to get a king’s wedding.”
“To be fair, the bots wanted me to be king. I just went along with it,” he lies.
“I’m going to tell you something my mom told my dad once. A wedding is about the bride. The groom is there to look nice, fill a spot, and give the lady what she wants.” I can’t even get it out without laughing.
“That’s terrible.” He pulls me into his arms and hugs me, fitting me into his body perfectly. “Your mother didn't really say that?”
“She did.” I laugh again, pulling back. “She was a savage.”
He reaches and tilts my chin up, staring at me and making the moment serious again. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Saying yes.” He lowers his face and kisses me. It’s not intense or crazed, it’s sweet and soft. It’s exactly the sort of kiss you give when the snow is falling outside, the candlelight is fading, and there’s been a proposal.
As the reality of us getting married hits me, desire sweeps in. I climb into his lap and kiss him with fervor.
I’m getting married.
It’s crazy.
The world ended.
And then it started again, as though the last few hundred years since the industrial revolution were just a season, and this is a new one.
My family ended, except for Joey.
And then it started again, filled with people I love with my whole heart.
My childhood ended. And abrupt death.
And now, my adulthood begins.
And it starts with him.
The End
Gotcha!!!!!
You didn't see that happy ending coming, did you?
Until next time (insert a slightly evil winky face here).
Tara
Also, if you liked this book, check out The Born Trilogy!
Here is a sample chapter!
Born
Chapter One
They say the world is built for two, but in the silence of the old cellar, two feels like a long-lost dream. It's an ice cream cone on a boardwalk with the sun above and the sea below. It's the wind rolling around you gently, persuading you in all the directions at once and mixing sand over your feet as your toes dig in. It's a perfect place that none of us tries to remember.
What’s the point in remembering when there’s no way to go back, and no matter how hard we work to move forward, we’ll always be stuck in the muck we’ve made.
Besides, in any mind left functioning, the world was built for pain. Perhaps once there had been a place where love and companionship were something to push your life toward.
This isn't that world anymore.
To me, that world never existed anyway. The world has always been a selfish place where love is fleeting and people are fickle. Once upon a time, true love accidentally happened to the fortunate. They polluted and corrupted it, and like everything else, it got sick.
I've seen it. I've seen it and in the end, when it's taken away, the people who protest or cry the loudest are the ones who have taken it for granted the most. The ones who have abused it, but didn’t even know they were doing it.
I size up the cellar I’ve been hiding in, lying low in the shadows that have become my world. It’s time to move on. In the four days I’ve been here, I’ve barely moved at all. My body is tense from it but that’s my rule, and now because of it I can breathe easier knowing I'm probably safe. I always end a supply run with a quiet few days in a cellar or basement.
There are rules in the new world. Rules you have to make up as you go along because everything changes. I don’t like change but I force myself to adapt. Except where other people are concerned. If there’s one thing you want to avoid in the new world, it’s other people. Other people make you weak—I’ve seen that too. When you love someone, you’ll make stupid choices that are more like risks. Those risks get you dead, but in the new world, d
ying doesn’t mean you stay dead. Nothing’s a guarantee anymore.
Everything about the new world is already a risk, and I wasn't born to this world. I've had to learn how to move around quietly in it, how to sit still, and how to be one with the things that shuffle along, waiting for someone to make a poor choice. When everything goes the wrong way, you have to close yourself off from it.
I have mastered that. I’m the master of not caring.
I know what I need to do to live. I have lain amongst the dead. I have run through the woods in the dark, my eyesight clearing like a wild animal’s might. I have embraced the darkness.
I have learned how to live without. Not just things but people and comfort.
Because that’s the new world.
I have one place that reminds me of the girl I was supposed to be. That place is all I have left of the world before, and so I treasure it and keep it secret.
I creep out into the beam of dust lingering in the air, sparkling from the sunlight that found its way down two stories into a dark cellar. I lift my fingers into the light, letting it touch me and make just one spot tingle with warmth. The beam of light almost makes me smile. I admire its determination at finding its way into the darkness, no matter what. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, that gives me hope. Hope I must shake my head at, to bring my thoughts back around, to take my first step toward the stairs and leave this dark place.
The explosions never destroyed this home in any way. It’s far too high on a lonely mountain, in a range of lonely mountains. The stairs are in one piece which has become a bit of a novelty. Thankfully, the old farmhouse is just too far from any major center to have even been aware of the problems, at least maybe in the beginning.
The blood smears on the white siding outside prove that the horror of the infection has touched every inch of this world. Even a lonely place such as this.
The hardwood creaks under my first step. I hold my breath and hope the creak went unheard. I take a breath and execute the second step slowly, allowing my body weight to shift onto it softly. I hesitate taking the third, giving the sounds space and distance of random noises a farmhouse would make. My heart beats like it might attempt to get free from my constricted chest. I wait a moment longer—it's another rule: never leave when you feel it's safe. Always wait one more second. Safe is an illusion, and once you believe the illusion, you lose everything.
