After The Apocalypse Season 1 Box Set

by Warren Hately

  Citizens with expertise in the area said any Air Force jets in recent use pointed to co-ordinated efforts of a military nature in other parts of the continental United States.

  Mr Vanicek declined to comment on the incident when asked.

  *

  THE VANICEK FAMILY made the journey to Hugh’s place along back streets, skirting The Mile and its myriad distractions. Lucas oozed reluctance, but his sister held her father’s hand and Tom carried his longbow if for no other reason than it was safer than leaving it behind. He’d concocted a fine excuse to knock on Dr Swarovsky’s door only for it to go unanswered, and when Mrs Uganda stuck her head out in curiosity – curiosity, rather than any more commendable concern for her own security – Tom enlisted her help keeping an eye on his family’s apartment, as concerned about losing it to fresh squatters as he was about any more thefts. The majority of their bulk goods he’d traded in his daughter’s company before they walked down to collect Lucas and update the rations book with his quota. Of the supplies, he kept the rice and the soup, but they traded the corn and wheat flour for four AA batteries rather than credit with the stallholder. Like bullets, liquor, and tobacco, a power source for small portable devices was a reliable index and a hell of a lot easier to carry than the contents of their larder, such as it was.

  Afternoon trundled towards night and a cool change swept through the streets busy with curbside traders, ever-evolving market stalls and other forms of life. Hugh’s neighborhood was one of the longer-resettled suburban streets, and that semi-permanence saw it flourish as a local center for trade based on the fresh goods safely grown within the layers upon layers of informal security resident Citizens carried out on the streets. Those residents, including teenage children from the big crowded wooden homes, took turns managing neighborhood checkpoints, Tom and his children casually strolling through the open chain-wire gates and swapping greetings with other residents. The neighbors wore guarded looks poorly-concealed in their casual welcomes, not many people left in the world with a sense of anything except guarded caution. Everything was a flashback to the time before Tom’s parents’ generation, when people relied on civility to gauge their own safety, none of it as impractical as the mere “manners” it was mocked for in the dying years of the consumer age.

  Hugh’s daughter Daisy stood at her usual station in the front yard market garden, sheltered by the family’s shared two-story home. An emaciated-looking older man of color with a gray-stubbled beard stood alongside Hugh up on the porch, slumped and in poor health wrapped in a cardigan beside the strongly-built trooper. Hugh patted the other man tenderly – a member of the other family whose home he shared – and then descended to the yard, easing himself past several browsing Citizens to meet Tom and his children as they let themselves in through the gate.

  “Tom, I’m glad you could make it,” Hugh said with a sincere welcoming smile.

  They shook hands, then their host dutifully turned to Tom’s children and introduced himself before their father could do the honors.

  “Welcome to my home and be welcome here,” he said formally. “I am Hugh, son of Anders, and you are under my protection and welcome at my table.”

  Luke and Lila were startled by the smiling civility, but Lucas knew to offer his hand and Lila did the same, though with a lot less certainty.

  “I’m Luke.”

  “Hi,” his sister added. “I’m Lilianna.”

  Rather than shake Tom’s daughter’s hand, Hugh set his hands together like a Buddhist, nothing slackening in his warm greeting.

  “Luke, son of Tomas, you are welcome here,” Hugh said. “And you, Tom’s daughter. Please feel safe and relaxed.”

  The children smiled, not entirely able to keep the awkwardness from their wide eyes. It wasn’t as if they were well-socialized anyway: Lucas was only six when he lost a world he barely knew, and Lilianna’s eleven-year-old’s memories were sketchy at the best of times.

  Tom literally filled the gap by pushing forward, placing a hand on Hugh’s shoulder in a subtle encouragement for them to advance, and Hugh happily led them past the last few drifting shoppers and up the wooden steps of the house. The screen door opened and a long-faced woman appeared, forcing a smile onto maudlin features timeworn by past fear.

  “Would you share your father’s name, that I might honor him, Tom?” Hugh asked.

  “My father’s name?”

  Tom felt a flush of irritation to hear himself apeing Hugh’s speech like a robot, and he softened his frown lest his host misapprehend.

  “My father’s name was Jakub,” Tom said. “It’s Czech.”

  “Tom Jakubsson, this is my wife, Janet.”

  Tom forced on his best smile and offered his hand. Janet stared at it as if startled, then offered a limp handshake while Hugh beamed encouragingly.

  “We are a very modest home,” the woman said in a voice confirming it. “Please, you are welcome to join our table. Come be at peace.”

  *

  THEY ENTERED THE family home, steering left of the internal staircase and heading through a living room turned into a work space for the market garden outside. Despite the old carpet, sturdy wooden tables were covered in tools and loose dirt, just like the floor, while bags of fertilizer, chicken manure, and buckets stewing with unknown solutions rested around the room. A woman wearing a headscarf acknowledged their entry, kind eyes on the children as she worked filling ceramic pots with a precise mix of raw materials. The woman’s skinny, but very tall young daughter stood attentively beside her with a garden spade too, a hessian sack holding seeds in one elegant hand.

  “Please,” Hugh said. “Our family space is through here.”

  The kitchen was just another shared work space. A squat woman with a gingery crewcut crouched over an old plastic industrial tub scrubbing turnips as Hugh led them through to a side room with a long table, candles burning on the table setting and along a mantelpiece decked with picture frames, but apart from a pair of photographs, the frames displayed postcards, the tattered front cover of an old magazine, a hand-drawn map, and a tattered square of tartan fabric among a number of other important keepsakes.

  It didn’t take much to see the candles were arranged like a shrine around a black-and-white photograph of a white-bearded man – on closer inspection, from page three of the New York Times – which sat beside a mass-produced plaster figurine of a Chinese sage or court noble. Tom was conscious of Hugh checking and rechecking their awareness of the curious display as they entered, Lilianna caught out by her own inquisitiveness as she drifted at once to that end of the room peering at the various artefacts with her arms folded.

  The oval table had an odd mix of chairs around it, but Hugh wasted no time nor subtlety skirting around to Lila’s side, encouraging her with a smile as he claimed the high seat. At Tom’s elbow, Janet gently guided him to the corresponding chair at the closer end of the table.

  “Have the seat of honor, please Tom,” Hugh said. “You’re my guest here tonight because my family and I owe you my life. If it wasn’t for what you did yesterday, today my wife would be in mourning, and our daughter without protection in the world.”

  Hugh motioned at Tom’s mystified children, an unusual regal bearing as he played chieftain in his dilapidated hall.

  “Your children are lucky to have their father,” Hugh said.

  “As are we,” Janet said with a quick, nervous sincerity.

  Hugh nodded, thoughtfully fondling a silver necklace he wore with one hand as Janet made another gesture as much akin to prayer as anything Tom’d seen thus far, then she excused herself from the group to retrieve her daughter from duties in the front yard. As soon as she’d left, Hugh gave a dry chuckle and stood again, wooden cabinetry under the mantelpiece a fine-looking antique under the gentle light.

  “Sorry if we seem really weird to you,” Hugh said.

  He retrieved a bottle of whisky and a pair of matching glasses.

  “Will you have a drink?” he asked. “Ja
net’s got lemon water for the kids. We flavored it with a little honey. My neighbor Garrick’s a fine beekeeper.”

  “You have honey?” Lila gasped.

  She shot an imploring look at her father at the prospect of a trade. Tom only chuckled, holding up one hand.

  “I’m wondering how you keep such a valuable resource safe,” Tom said. “You don’t have much trouble with . . . ferals?”

  “Ferals?”

  “I noticed there’s a lot of homeless teenagers,” Tom said. “Younger kids, too.”

  Hugh shrugged at the observation.

  “The reality is we can’t have what we can’t protect,” he said. “That’s the law, now. My family’s settled here. The street runs a militia patrol. We’re all part of it. Us men, anyway.”

  Lilianna chuckled without candor, maybe taking Hugh by surprise.

  “You don’t have any women on your security patrols?”

  “Not really,” Hugh said and smiled. “Our womenfolk are ready to stand with us if things call for it. We all know how to fight. That’s why we’re all still here, right? But it’s easier for the militia if we don’t have to worry about rapes.”

  “Rapes?”

  “Sure,” Hugh said. “We learnt the hard way, sending the women on patrol was just marching our chickens past a bunch of foxes.”

  He added with a gentle laugh, “We have a hard enough time protecting our damned chickens without worrying about our wives and daughters.”

  Again, Hugh’s casual demeanor seemed at odds to what Tom considered a pretty serious topic. Lila stood frozen, as if waiting breathlessly for whatever came next, and Tom felt a powerful urge to change the subject not exactly guided by her best interests. The conversation itself left him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t improved as Janet and Daisy entered the dining room carrying a crockpot they each set down between the flower settings on the long table.

  “You know, Tom,” Hugh resumed. “When I say ‘wives and daughters’, none of us are pretending this is happy families here. Not many of us made it through the last five years with our families intact, just like I’m sure you had your . . . challenges to face.”

  Hugh motioned to his “wife” Janet. The woman whispered for her daughter to bring the plates from the kitchen. The settings were already placed. The serious-looking girl met Tom’s eyes with an unflinching gaze as she turned on a dime and made the exit.

  “My Janet, here,” Hugh said. “She had men force themselves on her a bunch of times before we met. It was unavoidable.”

  Hugh’s smiled, looking at his woman with starry eyes, taking comfort, somehow, in whatever he was communicating. For her part, Janet only blushed under his regard like he’d handed her a compliment instead of making dinner party conversation of her sexual abuse.

  “They’re the same people in here that were out there, Tom,” Hugh said more quietly. “The rules of the last five still apply. I’m sure you’ve had to face this. You have a daughter too. And she’s beautiful. There’s no stigma here. Not anymore.”

  Hugh and Janet exchanged blushing smiles and held hands. Janet released Hugh’s grip just as quickly as Daisy entered the room and started laying out the dinner plates.

  “I’ll just fetch the greens,” Janet said quietly. “Drink, children?”

  “We’re not children,” Lucas spat.

  The harsh remark echoed like a slap in the room. Hugh froze a moment with his smile a rictus grin, then he looked Tom’s way, winked, and turned to Lilianna who’d settled in the chair to one side of him, as much out of politeness once their ill-omened discussion began.

  “You don’t need to feel any shame, Lilianna,” Hugh said.

  Their host glanced Tom’s way again, as if still navigating the path of common courtesy despite the territory taking such a grim turn.

  “Whoa, hang on,” Lila said after a second’s hesitation. “I’ve never been raped.”

  “Really?”

  Hugh’s smile redoubled. He motioned at Tom, his hand gesturing down the length of the banquet table as if offering their father some kind of reward.

  “My respect to you and yours, Tom,” he said. “Truly, you would make worthy neighbors. Let’s eat.”

  *

  THE MEAL MADE the extreme levels of social discomfort far more palatable. Janet served a meat stew as well as a second dish of mostly Mexican beans and turnips flavored with pork fat. The joint-venture family garden also provided asparagus and broad beans, and there was a separate platter of turnips fried on a griddle, and Lucas and Lila abandoned their table manners eating as many of them as they could. Hugh only laughed. Once the meal was well underway, Janet brought out a rough wholemeal loaf Hugh ceremonially divided among them, the portions clearly determined by size and age, and they eagerly wiped their plates with the bread, and Tom joined them.

  His shot of whisky remained untouched, but Hugh poured himself a second before securing the bottle. Throughout the meal, young Daisy watched Tom’s children like deadly rivals, no human emotion beyond a dangerous sort of watchfulness. And when the meal was concluded, every morsel gone, Janet teased dessert, coming out of her shell a little under Lilianna’s flattery, Lucas still red-cheeked from his outburst, ignored for the sake of the subsequent feast.

  Hugh stood and invited Tom to follow. There was another doorway into what once would’ve been a TV room or study. It held was dead fireplace and an impressive desk, a leather sofa, a captain’s chair, a gun safe for Hugh’s weapons, and a sizeable bookcase. Trophies of a dead boar and a dead elk’s heads hung either side of the entrance to the dining room and there was a smell in the clammy air as if the taxidermy hadn’t quite worked.

  “I like to savor the good stuff too,” Hugh said once they were alone. “A lesser man would’ve thrown that drink back and waited for seconds.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” Tom said.

  “You have that slippery Council man’s dinner tomorrow night?”

  “That’s right,” Tom said. “I should probably let you know I’m not going back to work for the Foragers. I appreciated the meal. Your wife’s a fine cook.”

  “You’re a little weirded out though, huh?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not on you. You’ve got a hell of a game face going,” Hugh said and chuckled and sat heavily in the padded chair while Tom lowered himself like doing a squat onto the leather settee.

  “More obvious on your kids though,” Hugh said. “Have you got yourself a woman yet, Tom?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.”

  He thought of Iwa Swarovsky, wondering what it’d be like if she was here, then just as quickly catching himself in the brief reverie and wondering what the fuck was getting into him.

  “No,” he said again.

  “Janet knows a few husbandless women,” Hugh said. “There’s a nice tall one called Elvira. Skinny, but with big boobs, you know?”

  “Uh-huh,” Tom said. “How many times has she been raped?”

  The venom in his voice surprised Tom as much as the unbidden question, leaping out fully-formed from his unconscious without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “Jeez, man,” Hugh replied. “What are you holding out for? A virgin?”

  The other man eyed him with a surprising mix of misgivings.

  “Your daughter’s beautiful,” Hugh said as if that were a detour. “A man would forgive her almost anything, I’d say. I don’t know how you managed to keep her safe so long, Tom, but full credit to you. What did you think was going to happen once you got here?”

  “We’ve talked about keeping safe –”

  “Safe?” Hugh laughed. “You must have a streak of old puritan in you, Tom. We’re medieval. A girl your daughter’s age is a woman now. Most have children, too. Plenty of them. There’s nothing here like birth control . . . except the old-fashioned way.”

  Hugh winked with unclear connotations and Tom swallowed his first response.

  “To be
honest with you, Hugh, I don’t much like the way you talk about my daughter,” Tom said. “All this stiff and formal bearing, then you’re talking to me like she’s just another trade?”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect,” Hugh said. “I owe you my life, Tom. That means I should be honest with you, always.”

  “I get that,” Tom said. “OK.”

  “You can forget the old rules of romance,” Hugh said. “We’re in a man’s world again, no mistaking it. And most the women who’ve survived this far, they know it too.”

  “I didn’t raise my daughter to become some man’s slave.”

  “You think my wife’s my slave?”

  “That’s a bit strong,” Tom conceded. “Servant?”

  “Man, no. Janet does valuable work,” Hugh said. “I love the shit out of that woman. You would, too. She gave me Daisy.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “Sweet kid.”

  “She’s a reason for living,” Hugh said. “You know what I mean by that, right?”

  Tom lowered his eyes, understanding while at the same time unable to fathom feeling anything like the power of emotions for children who weren’t his own. He knew that was more a question of his own damage.

  “The sooner you adapt, the better it’ll be,” Hugh said. “You haven’t been here even a month yet, right Tom? Those Council faggots are going to suck your dick tomorrow night, but only so they can use you. My wife’s exactly the same. Every single one of them – every one of us – we’re motivated by nothing but self-preservation now.”

  *

  “WHY’D YOU quit Foragers?” Hugh asked after supervising Tom downing his drink and retreating briefly back into the dining room to pour another. Like at the Dirty Vixen, Tom declined the follow up.

  “I don’t have a game plan for a lot of things, including the future for my daughter,” Tom said. “But I never set out for the City thinking I was gonna become a wage slave again. Fine for you, you carry a rifle with you for your work. There’s too many ways to get killed in this place as it is without going outside the City-fucking-limits for the sake of two rations stamps a day.”