by C C Roth
I had lain awake for a long time after we went to bed. Mom and Dad were a mess and after half a day of listening to the news it wasn’t helping us anymore. A person could only take so much despair. Eventually they had declared bedtime and taken the radio into their room after hugging us both and promising for the hundredth time we would be alright. I didn’t believe them this time. I couldn’t. This was too much and there was no way we could come back from it. And what if it wasn’t over? What would be next? A hailstorm of questions bombarded my brain as I lay awake in the dark and wondered what was left of our nation’s capital. Were there any survivors? What did the city look like? Who was doing this and why? Was the president dead? And if he was dead who was in charge? I couldn’t understand any of it and I was quietly freaking out. I couldn’t stop the images of death in my head. I thought about waking Mike up but I wasn’t a kid anymore and I knew I had to handle it on my own.
Hours of self-torture must’ve gone by until finally something came to my rescue. Out of nowhere a melody slowly rose up from the shadows of my mind and interrupted the horrific scenes of mass graves I was envisioning. It was slow and simple like a nursery rhyme and I instinctively knew someone had sung it to me when I was little and upset. How did the words go? Something about a river? I could hear the tune but that was all, the words eluded me. Who sang it to me? It had to have been Dad, he was always singing something, sometimes much to the annoyance of everyone. One time he sang almost the entire soundtrack from West Side Story just because Mike said he couldn’t. That was a long car ride. At that moment though I was thankful for the music as the soothing melody hummed a little louder in my subconscious and broke apart the desolate landscape of my imagination. I could feel my muscles relax and my head went heavy and limp on the pillow. The gentle song hummed on and soon sleep had found me despite the fear of waking up to a new and terrifying world.
✽✽✽
The first thing I heard the next morning was the sound of Mike’s quiet snore from across the loft. It was soft and rhythmic; he was still in a deep sleep. I didn’t know how long I’d slept but it hadn’t been long enough. The reality of what happened yesterday closed in on me again and I felt hopeless. I knew I should get up, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something in me was just gone like a numbness had taken over me while I slept. I stayed in bed while Mike got up and went downstairs. I stayed in bed while I listened to my family talking about me in the kitchen. I stayed in bed while my mom came up and tried to console me, but I couldn’t hear her words. For some reason I couldn’t make my body want to get up. Eventually my dad appeared upstairs and sat next to me on the bed. I watched the floral quilt my grandma had sewn dip under his weight and the hydrangea I’d been staring at morphed out of my plane of vision into a blueish blob.
“Sam?”
I ignored him.
“Sam, we can’t quit. We don’t get to quit. I know this is awful and I don’t have all the answers right now but we’ll figure it out as we go.” He ran a reassuring hand over the top of my head, something he’d done since I was little. “I do have answers to the simple stuff. Like, where is our next meal coming from? Who is going to help me chop wood today? And, is Sam going to get up and get to work or is she going to wet the bed like a big baby?”
“What?!” I shrieked.
“Well, you’ve been up here a long time and eventually you’re going to have to pee. I’m just saying.”
“God, Dad. Gross!” He was totally impossible sometimes. I really didn’t want to smile but he was so ridiculous I couldn’t help it. “Fine. I’m up.” And with that I threw back the covers and stomped downstairs. He was right, though. I did have to pee.
There were two other explosions in major cities over the next month. Both were non-nuclear and with a much smaller impact but lives were still lost. The CDC in Atlanta was hit and survived with only a few injuries but then nothing after that. It was as if whoever was threatening us just disappeared or found a different distraction. Maybe it was because we no longer posed a threat to anyone. The virus had failed to be contained and the majority of our government as we knew it had been destroyed. Individual states were mostly handling their own military now. Our country, as we once knew it, was crumbling.
Unfortunately, the explosions had been enough to erupt another wave of the viral outbreak. Survivors, in an attempt to escape regions they felt were high targets, put themselves and others at risk by traveling. Now instead of slowing the curve, more were dying. The news anchors were trying to be positive for the most part, but the truth was ugly and obvious. The virus had claimed one-third of the United States population, over one hundred million lives, and we still had no cure yet.
It killed indiscriminately, leaving our military and local law enforcement vulnerable. Utilities and essential services were starting to shut down because those who were left alive were in hiding. No one wanted to risk their lives for a crappy job but those jobs were what kept our country running. Most cities in the Midwest, including ours, and the East Coast were without power. Just as Mom had predicted. The nuclear attack on our capital had eliminated countless important government leaders, including our president, which was causing a complete breakdown in our political system. I didn’t know who was in charge now, I think maybe it was the Secretary of State or Secretary of…something. I wasn’t sure. From the sound of things, no one was really in charge. People were terrified and they were acting like it. We listened every day to the reports of what we were doing to ourselves. People were attacking each other, shutting state borders, and refusing aide to neighboring states. It was awful. Some groups were trying to take advantage and put themselves in positions of power because there was no one to tell them they couldn’t or at least no way to enforce it. It all felt so far away but I knew it must be happening just outside our door too.
We just didn’t have a lot of options when it came to local news coverage except for some quack operating out of his basement under a fake name. He called himself Wonder Boy and always started his broadcast with a bunch of dramatics about how he was broadcasting from “The Dark Zone” and he was currently being hunted by the government so he had to use an alias. He was convinced that the entire attack, the Avian-X virus, the bombings, everything, was all started by us. That the U.S. was responsible and that people were so desperate for a change they were willing to sacrifice everything to hit the proverbial reset button. We were all listening to one of his epic rants one night after dinner, purely for entertainment purposes. He was calling for a new world order and asking his fellow patriots to take up arms and begin again. He said that together we could build our country the way we wanted without the corruption of our government holding us back and without the extreme damaging effects of overpopulation slowly murdering our planet.
Mike snorted, “This guy is hilarious.”
My mother didn’t laugh. “Not hilarious. He’s dangerous. In the absence of sound leadership people will start listening to just about anyone. That’s partially what got us into this mess I’d bet. Unfortunately he’s not completely wrong. Not about people being able to build things the way they want, anyway. We are in the middle of a revolution whether we want it or not.”
“You’re worried about this guy? Really? Who would actually take any of this seriously?” I asked.
“A lot of people. Especially around here.”
Dad read the confusion on my face and spoke up.
“Your mother is trying to be politically correct but what she means is we are surrounded by people with small minds and big guns. It can be a bad combination.”
“Thank you, Jackson.” She grinned at him lovingly. “What he said. Our country is in a revolution and people are going to come together for a lot of different reasons. Someone is going to have to step up and make sure too many of the wrong people don’t come together.”
“Who are the wrong people?”
“Right now, it’s hard to say. Most of the time it’s obvious but sometimes it’s who you’d least expect
. That’s who worries me more. The man pretending to be something he’s not.”
Dad abandoned his puzzle and flopped on the couch next to Mom. “Well said, Ally. How about we get you to lead the Revolution? Then we’ll know we’re in good hands.”
She grinned and kissed him. “Not a chance in hell. But thanks for the nomination.”
Averting my eyes from their PDA, I went back to my book. I couldn’t grasp the scope of what Mom meant by “revolution”. The word conjured images of villagers with pitchforks or something other-worldly, far removed from my limited life experience. I had still been so protected from it all, partially because of where we were and partially because I was living on a heavy slice of denial about things not returning to normal. At that point a part of me still thought I’d be going home soon. But the word “revolution” kept popping up in news reports and my parents’ conversations. It was real and it was closer than I knew even though we remained untouched by all of it in our little safe haven. Safe from the virus because we came into contact with no one. Safe from terrorist blasts because we were too secluded for anyone to know or care about us.
The cabin was becoming home. We had established a routine and Mom and Dad kept us so busy we didn’t have much time to dwell on what we couldn’t control. I was exhausted and my body ached from so much manual labor every day but I was having fun learning new skills and Mike was training me in self-defense, which at times was ridiculous but I could feel myself getting stronger. The idea of spending so much time with my big brother would have made me nauseous months ago but these days it wasn’t as if you could call up your best friend to hang out.
“No, like this. Try it again.” Mike was a good teacher and super patient with me most of the time.
He was such a skilled athlete in school so he definitely had the experience coaching, but I think my attitude bugged him. I had always done well in my classes, well the ones I cared about, but sports were something I was never really into. The whole “there’s no I in team” just never hit home for me. But I was starting to see why people enjoyed the challenge of competition amongst peers. Not that hand-to-hand combat was something they even offered in gym class but had it been an option I think I would’ve picked that instead of volleyball or soccer; too much hugging and high fives.
That day we were working on defensive moves. The problem was I was much smaller than Mike. He was six feet tall compared to my five feet three inches and he would always be stronger. But, as he kept telling me, that was the point. Most people were bigger than me and I needed to be prepared. I needed to learn how to use their weight against them.
I nodded I was ready and he stepped forward and grabbed my wrists. I threw up my arms quickly and twisted free, the way he’d shown me, then thrusted my forearm into his neck being sure to pull back before actually making contact.
“Good,” he said smiling, “you’re getting better. Faster. You did everything right but always remember your goal. What do you do after you break free and hit me?”
“Run away,” I answered. “If they’re bigger than me I get free and I run.”
“Right. So let’s do it again and this time run. You can’t hesitate. Unless you want to just talk them to death.” He said with a smirk.
I landed a punch in his gut, calling him a smartass. He doubled over in exaggerated pain and laughed. “Or that works too,” he said with a cough.
I bounced back and forth on the balls of my feet, enjoying my new found power. “Can we do the one from last week?” I asked excitedly.
“No way. My back still hurts. And I think you’re enjoying my pain too much.”
“Yeah well, you should’ve been nicer to me when we were little,” I teased.
Last week we had practiced using your attacker’s momentum against them. I got to throw Mike over my back and slam him into the ground. It was awesome.
“You’re delusional and I was as awesome to you as I could have been under the circumstances…you being a total weirdo.”
I took a swing at his arm as he mocked me, but he dodged the blow quickly.
“Okay my bad, you’re right. You’re still a total nutcase.” He was pretty amused with himself. He pushed me aside easily as I kept trying to knock him off balance but it was useless. I would never be as fast as him.
It was March now and warming considerably. It’s amazing how great 35 degrees can feel when you’re used to single digit temperatures plus windchill assaulting you every morning as you step outside. February had been a little rough for us simply because the frigid cold made any outdoor excursions short lived and miserable. The tiny cabin had begun to feel like a shoebox and I desperately missed my old room at home. Whenever I caught myself starting to complain about sharing the loft with Mike, I tried to remind myself of how bad others had it, those that were still alive I mean. Being locked up was not my jam, I was desperate for the thaw and to start getting outside more. Mom and Dad had plans for a garden so we could start making our own food. Under a window in the kitchen we had a ton of little seedlings that were starting to sprout green leaves but because it had been one of the worst winters in a long time we were anticipating a late thaw. Or at least that’s what the local Farmer’s report said to expect. It felt ridiculous that I was even listening to a Farmer’s report but we still didn’t have Netflix so at least it was something.
There were almost around-the-clock aftermath updates from every news channel and because we were more than 400 miles from the D.C. nuclear blast, we were safe from any fallout. Reports said the winds had taken most of it east anyway, just another unfortunate hit to the already decimated coastline. Those closest to the Black Zone were saying that entire cities were nothing but ghost towns. That’s what our country was turning into; zones. Color-coded sections divided by the probability of human survival. Black equaled dead. Red meant pretty much screwed but not dead yet. And Green or Safe meant you could fall asleep at night with the illusion of security but really who were they kidding, no one was safe anymore. Safe zones in the west, Black zones in the east, and there we stood in the middle of it all, the Red Zone. Frosty grass crunching under our feet, sun shining, and no clue if our zone would hold.
Mike was still dancing around me and laughing when the song playing on the radio faded out and a news reporter chimed in.
“We have breaking news and a confusing report to share with our listeners today. We can now confirm that rumors are true and tell you with certainty that a large faction of the KKK here in the U.S. has been eradicated, seemingly by their own hand. In a bizarre twist of fate, one of the largest assemblies of KKK leaders and followers had gathered near New Orleans a week ago, in an attempt to demonstrate a show of force to local militia. They held a several days long festival of sorts filling the time with guest speakers spouting white supremacist rhetoric and racist group chants meant to unify their people. Apparently, they did not get the memo about not gathering in large groups and succeeded in infecting the entire group with the Avian-X virus. They have all since succumbed to their symptoms, all 2,532 of them. This reporter has little to say on the subject other than I join no one in grieving this loss. In other news, the CDC is reporting—"
“Whoa,” I laughed. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah, geez. What are the odds?” Mike asked, scratching his head.
“I didn’t even know the KKK was still a thing. I mean, really? White supremacists?”
Mike shrugged. “Apparently.”
Just then Dad wandered over the small hill from the north end of the cabin and waved at us. The sun was shining brightly above him and cast a warm glow all around his outline.
I waved him over excitedly. “Dad, guess what? We beat the Nazi’s.”
“No kidding? Well it’s about time.”
“I know, right?” I jumped up and down. “They pretty much did it to themselves, but I still feel like it’s a national victory. Did you know there were still actual Nazi’s?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” He chuckled. “Sam,
I’m glad the death of so many brings you joy. You two ready for a break yet? I need your help.”
“Yes, please,” Mike said with relief. “What’s up?”
My dad hesitated a moment then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. I could tell it was something serious because his usual lightness of character was gone again, something that was happening more and more these days. He was even starting to show some more prominent worry lines across his forehead and eyes.
“Your mom and I want to talk to you both for a minute.”
“Is this about the Nazi’s? Because we both have alibis I swear. Also, no one cares they’re dead…so ya know, there’s that.”
“No, it’s not about the Nazi’s, Sam and thank you for your honesty. Just c’mon, Mom is waiting.”
We followed him back towards the cabin where Mom was waiting. She was standing near the tree line, wearing her jacket and perfectly tied scarf. The sun bounced off her long hair and made the auburn in it seem to burn red. Mike and I both stopped suddenly as we saw what she was holding at her side. It was a large gun. I didn’t know anything about guns at the time but I would come to know this one as a Remington 700 and it would soon become my best friend. It would keep me warm at night, it would hear my secrets, and save my life again and again. But that day it was a stranger and it terrified me. I had never even seen a gun in real life. We didn’t even own a gun, or so I had thought.
“Mom, what the hell is that? What are you doing with that?” I yelled. Mike’s jaw hanging open told me he was as baffled as I was.
She half-smiled and let out a sigh. “Sam, your father and I both agree it’s time. Things are only getting worse. I had hoped that our country would find stability by now but our enemy, whoever it is, has made that next to impossible. And based on what we hear on the radio every day, what they couldn’t finish we’re doing for them. We’re tearing ourselves apart. You have both made us so proud already and we know you can survive and take care of each other. But there is a different kind of surviving that you need to learn. Sooner or later you will have to use a gun. Everyone else, especially out here, will have one and they will likely have years of experience. I never wanted either of you to ever touch one of these, but that’s just not an option anymore.”
