“Sounds about right,” she smiles. “That’s about the time you and Denise moved to Texas. Speaking of which, what brings you to town? And Denise, is she...” Her voice trails off uncertainly. In this new world, the smallest questions can reveal hidden pain. But not today it seems.
His smile widens. “She’s well,” he says, guessing her unasked question. “She’s back at the ranch with the kids. And as for being here? Just dumb luck, really. My sister’s wedding was scheduled for the day after everything went to shit. Took us a while to even know anything had even happened. Had the bride and groom’s families over at my brother’s house for a barbeque. A sort of ice-breaker before the wedding, you know? But eventually, we figured out something had happened. We’ve been there ever since.”
Despite everything I’ve been through, it’s still strange to hear other people relive that first day. Only two months since this all began, and already it has become such a common question: Where were you when the world fell apart? Over seven billion people on the planet before the collapse and not a single person has been untouched by the fallout—the one common thread among all of us. I find myself thinking of his sister: a young bride, full of love, ready to commit herself for better or for worse. Will she ever know those better days? Or will they forever elude her?
“I would say at least you’ve been spared the craziness of town, but it sounds like you’ve had your own problems,” my father says.
He nods, growing more serious. “We’ve had our share. People wandering mostly. Begging. It’s not that we didn’t want to help, but we’re already dealing with enough. If we helped everyone, there would be nothing left for us.” The pity in his voice is unmistakable, and I know he means it when he says he wanted to help. He shakes his head as if shaking the thought away. “But we’ve also had people try and take instead of begging. Most of the thieves haven’t been too hard to deal with, but this last group is like a fly you can’t swat. They’ve hit us almost every single day, for the past two weeks. They rarely get away with much, but every little bit hurts. Finally caught one of them two days ago, a young girl. Weren’t sure what to do with her at first. Do we kill her? Hostage her? In the end, we let her go with a message to stop raiding us or next time we wouldn’t be so lenient. They came back the same day. My brother took a shot and clipped one of them, yelling that they were warned. They didn’t like that. Yelled back they would be back with a force. That’s why we’re out here, thought that was you.”
“These thieves, were they well armed?” Richard asks.
“Not really,” Eric replies. “Saw a couple rifles. Not nearly enough to go around.”
“They’ve been coming in the early mornings?” Richard asks.
“Early mornings, dusk, midnight. It’s always different. They like to keep us on our toes, I guess.”
Of course they would. It’s no surprise that people are targeting the countryside. I have done it myself while on the trail. But not every farmer and rancher are as kind as Elroy, and not every raider had the same intentions as we did. Eric’s problems may be our own soon enough. I can only hope we’ll manage to hold out as they have.
“This ranch, is it a big place?” I ask. “How are you keeping it protected? How many people do you have?” The questions tumble out one after the other, my hyperactive mind unable to help it.
“Why’re you so interested in the specifics?” asks a woman about my mother’s age. Her suspicion is clear, and she’s not the only one of Eric’s party to glare at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it sounds like I’m fishing for information, but it’s not like that. I just want to know what I can expect when we get to where we’re going.”
“It’s alright,” Eric says. He nods to the woman as if to assure her. “Ranch is just over fifty acres, but we’ve scaled it back to a fraction of that. Not including the children, we have thirty-seven hands right now, four of which are always on sentry duty, checking our perimeter. Besides that, we have a few other preventive measures against thieves, traps and such. Still, it’s a challenge keeping it secure.”
I don’t doubt it. Durango, while not a large city, isn’t exactly the small town it once was. With barren supermarket shelves, and no deliveries coming into the city, what choice was there but to leave in search of sustenance? Thousands will have been displaced, combing through the forests and countrysides in hopes of filling their empty stomachs. I feel a weight settle in my own stomach just thinking about what lies ahead of us.
“My uncle’s place is another couple hours from here,” Felix says. “How active has this area been during the day? Do you think it’s safe to travel?”
“Hasn’t been too bad,” Eric says, scratching the stubble on his neck. “Probably be a bit riskier than traveling at night, but I’d rather stay mobile during the day than try and hunker down.” He pauses, a sudden uncomfortable look on his face. “I would invite you to wait it out at the ranch, but things...are a bit tense right now. Sorry. I just don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Eric,” my mother says. “Really, we understand.”
Eric nods. “Thanks,” he says. “In any case, this spot is compromised right now. We should be heading back to the ranch and report back what happened.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary,” one of the men says. He gestures to the right, drawing our attention to the men trotting our way on horseback. I count eight of them, all armed, and none too friendly. Eric looks back to us. “Let me do the talking,” he says, his tense face putting me on edge.
“Jake,” Eric greets one of the men as they draw level with us. “We were just about to head back.”
“Heard gunshots. Thought it best that we check it out.” Though the man speaks with Eric, his eyes never leave us. I can feel him assessing us, taking in our guns, our nerves, our fear. We definitely don’t give the best first impression. “Who are these people?”
“Their friends,” Eric says. He points to my mother: “Marie and I go way back. They’re not part of the gang that’s been targeting us.”
“Friends?” he asks. Finally, he looks away from us, skepticism written across his face as he stares pointedly at Eric. “And how do you know they’re friends? Because you have a few memories with one of em’ from back in the day?”
“Because I know the kind of person she is,” Eric answers. “They’re just passing through.”
“Or that’s what they said and are just waiting till you idiots turn your backs.”
Richard laughs meanly. “Shrewd bastard aren’t you? But unless you’re also an idiot, one look should be enough to show you we’re not about to try and raid you.” I bite the inside of my cheek, barely able to keep myself from lashing out. Does he really need to stir the shit right now?
The man looks over at Richard, no sense of amusement about him. “You’ve got a big mouth,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
Richard smiles. “Plenty,” he says. “Have yet to meet someone who could make me shut it though.” The challenge turns the tension all the way up to ten. I watch the man’s fingers twitch as if longing to reach for the revolver holstered on his hip. All around him his men wait for a cue, a signal on how to react. Silently, my family shift defensively, the younger members being shielded by the others, everyone’s grip tight on their firearms. A few wrong words and we’ve gone from cordial to being on the verge of ripping each other apart. Eric notices too.
“Jake, let it go,” he says. “That one likes to talk, but I swear they’re not trying to get one over on us.”
“This one has a name,” Richard says.
“This one needs to learn when to be quiet,” my Uncle Will seethes. “Seriously, your goddamn mouth has been getting us in shit since we were kids. This isn’t the time. Think of your daughters for Christ’s sake!”
This alone seems to silence him. A brief flicker of shame ripples across his stony face, gone so quick I might mistake it for a trick of the light. But
when he looks at his daughters, I can tell by the softness in his eyes I didn’t imagine it. I remember overhearing my Uncle Will once say that the army was the best choice his brother ever made, that it had taught him to think before he acted. I can only assume this rash, hot-headedness is what he was referring to.
The man’s nostrils flare as he huffs an angry breath. “Ok, Eric,” he says. “I’ll take your word on it. Being that you’re such good friends, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind seeing to it that they navigate our property safely. Wouldn’t want them to wander across our crosshairs now would we?”
Richard manages to keep his temper in line and not take the bait. I’m grateful, though a part of me understands the anger. This man is definitely an asshole in his own right. Like Richard said, it should be obvious to anyone with a lick of sense that we’re not raiders. That coupled with Eric vouching for us should be more than enough credit to convince him. Yet he chooses to goad us, creating animosity when there is no need for it. At least things didn’t escalate further.
The horse riders depart with the rest of their people following after, leaving Eric alone with my family. He turns to us now. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Like I said, things are tense right now. These damn bastards have everyone on edge.”
“It’s not just you,” I say. “We’re all dealing with a lot at the moment.”
Eric nods. “Yeah. You’re right about that.”
We follow Eric as he leads us around his family’s ranch. Atop a low hill, I catch a glimpse of the place: a large, single-story house; outbuildings; an open field with grazing horses. Men and women work in pairs and small groups, tending to the needs of the place in a practiced rhythm. As we shuffle down the backside of the hill, it’s lost from view. Not long after, Eric comes to a halt some hundred feet removed from a highway. He apologizes again, and after a quick hug from my mother, wishes us good luck.
We move with haste, forgoing stealth for speed. After our altercation, we all want to get to the farm as quickly as possible. It’s a quiet affair, everyone lost in their own thoughts. I’m not surprised. Though they don’t say so, I can tell how shaken they still are. Even after the whole ordeal with the Animas Animals, most of them have little experience dealing with the violence of this new world. I’ve been immersed in it from the beginning. I know how ugly things can turn and how fast it happens. We were lucky Eric was there. We might not all be here if he wasn’t.
We make it to the farm in under two hours, the fear induced fuel we had been riding crashing on our arrival. But there is still work to be done before we can rest. Slowly, we approach the farm from the rear, eyes searching for any signs of occupation. We reach the barn first, the sweet smell of hay and damp earth bringing me back to nights of drunken foolishness with Leon and Felix. I feel my heart clench. If these walls could talk, the stories they would tell.
After making sure the barn is clear, most of the family remain behind. I advance toward the house with Leon, Felix, Vince, and Richard. We peer through the open windows first, the scene inside turning my blood cold. As we enter through the kitchen, I know our search will yield nothing. Nobody would choose to stay here given the state it’s in. Not unless it meant something to them.
“You and Richard should head back to the barn,” I tell Vince. “We’re not going to be moving into the house anytime soon.” He looks around, taking in the wreckage solemnly. Vince may not know Felix as I do, but he’s gotten to know him well enough over the years: through games of horseshoes on warm summer evenings, beer on ice, and burgers cooking on the grill; through early morning lift rides up Purgatory, skiing through fresh powder down Paradise and Upper Hades and all the other epic trails we’ll never ski again. This shouldn’t be his first impression of this house. Uncle Frank’s large frame should dominate the room, his booming laugh making everyone feel welcome. The smell of homemade tortillas should permeate the air, Aunt Christina’s smile as warm as the stack sitting on the kitchen counter. It should be clean, bordering on compulsive. It shouldn’t be like this.
Vince nods once and leaves, Richard following after. Leon and I approach the living room where Felix stands motionless, a wonder he’s kept his feet with the weight of so much grief upon his shoulders. How much worse this must all seem in the light of day, no darkness to hide the devastation. The front door is hanging off its hinges, a large crack in the center marking where it was kicked in. The furniture has been slashed and ripped, most of it overturned and stained with God knows what. Family photos lay scattered on the floor, their frames shattered, the memories they hold torn and covered in dirty boot prints. The walls show signs of a gunfight—bullet holes and clusters of buckshot tearing through the drywall—splatters of dried blood stained dark and ominous against the taupe-colored paint.
Felix stares at the blood-soaked floor, light from the shattered window throwing everything in sharper relief. Pools and smeared drag marks cover the hardwood like brushstrokes on canvas. It’s been said that a picture is worth one thousand words. Perhaps that’s true because seeing this has left me utterly lost for them.
“Thought I was exaggerating all the blood,” Felix says. His voice comes out hoarse. Pained. “You know, with the shock of it all, and it being so dark and everything.” He looks to us now, his eyes haunted. “I really wanted to have been exaggerating.”
His voice quavers on that last bit, his legs shaky as he sinks onto an ottoman. How did he make it back to my parent's house after facing this alone? I doubt I could have done the same. Had our places been reversed, I would have broke—would have been crippled by the deep, dark places my mind would have taken me. Even now, my stomach churns with the emotions brewing inside me: anger and grief, vengeance and worry, a dozen others that erupt when I wonder what happened here, and more importantly, what happened to Felix’s family. But I know anything I feel must be amplified one-hundred fold inside my friend. I need to stay strong for his sake.
I leave the room for the kitchen, knowing how hollow my words will be amid all this destruction. I search through the cabinets and pantry, finding the items I need. Outside I fill a bucket of water from the spigot, relieved to at least have a reliable source of water. I return to the living room to find Felix where I left him, his face buried in his hands and hidden behind a curtain of overgrown hair. Leon sits beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder. I set the bucket down and fall to my knees, Leon joining me when he sees what I’m doing. Wordlessly, we get to work scrubbing at the bloodstains with sponges and soapy water.
After a few minutes, I notice Felix watching our progress. He stares at me through red, swollen eyes, his pain etched deep into the worry lines on his face. But despite everything, he has not come undone. That lost, forlorn air which consumed him that morning at my parent's house does not shroud him now. He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, and sinks to his knees beside us, soaking a sponge in the soapy water. He holds it in his hand a long moment, the suds slipping past his fist and racing down his arm. Slowly, he looks to me and then to Leon, resolve burning behind his eyes.
“You’re still worth traveling down this road with,” he says.
Chapter 6: (Lauren)
My heart broke for Felix when I stepped inside the house. Never have I seen a place so wrecked. The upturned furniture, the crumpled front door, the bloodstains on the walls and floor, it all painted a brutal picture of the dark deeds that took place. Emily and I joined the guys soon as we heard of the situation. Of course, hearing of it was one thing, seeing it was quite another. When I hugged Felix it felt weak and hollow, as if I were hugging a pillow or a stuffed animal. Physically he was here, but mentally, he was somewhere else entirely. I could only imagine the terrible thoughts plaguing his mind, all the questions he had no way of answering. Was he thinking of what happened to his family? Of what could have possibly happened here to create so much havoc? Or was he thinking not of the present, but of the past: of the warm, crystalline moments he and his family shared within these walls?
T
he five of us worked on cleaning the house until the late afternoon. Glass was swept, furniture re-arranged, but there is still so much left to do. As hard as we scrubbed on the bloodstained floor, there was no lifting it. The blood had soaked too deeply into the wood. Instead, we covered the worst of it with an antique rug Felix’s aunt had insisted was far too beautiful to be stepped on, and which had been kept in storage for years, appreciating in value like a piece of art. I admit, it is beautiful: the intricate layers, the vivid colors, the tiny flaws in the hand woven stitching adding to its grandeur rather than taking away from it—like how music always sounds better on vinyl, the static and scratch giving it a flair that cannot be replicated or reproduced by digital means. It almost felt wrong to lay it on the floor: to cover something so ugly with something so beautiful. And though it’s better than the alternative, I know none of us will forget what lies beneath.
At dusk we finally made our way back to the barn, tired and ragged. All of us except for Felix.
“I’ll be alright,” he assured us. “I just need to be alone for a minute.”
Reluctantly, we agreed and joined the others, the gloom of the house following after us. That evening was quiet and somber. There was no celebration, no air of victory among us. It was as if we had accomplished nothing in our relocation. The magic farm—the place where we could start over and build a new life suddenly looked so very small. Twilight had barely asserted itself when nearly everyone settled in for sleep, nestling into their beds of straw, ready for this dreary day to end.
Their deep breathing and light snores sound from inside the barn, barely audible over the rhythmic singing of crickets. Morgan’s arm wraps around my shoulders, the warmth of his body against my own warding off the chill to the night air. As it was so many nights on the trail, we keep watch over our sleeping group. I feel fatigue settle deep inside my bones as darkness settles in earnest. If I were to close my eyes right now it would be quite some time before they opened again. I’m exhausted. Sleep has been hard to come by these past few days, the brief snatches I manage filled with nightmares, memories, leaving me more tired than I was before. And sleep is still a ways away.
A Cruel and Violent Storm Page 6
