M. Banner - Desolation

She grabbed his gun and trotted down the back stairs, galloping a route around the back, working her way to the side of the house. Turning the corner, she darted straight for the road. Home free in maybe one hundred feet. As she was about to clear the side of the house, she saw the fuzzy image of the butt of a rifle arcing toward her face; then, blackness.

“Wakey wakey, little lady,” came a voice from the depths.

A splash of water filled her mouth and nose, forcing her to cough. Melanie sat up with a start, groggy. An icepick-sharp headache ratcheted her brain. She tried to open her eyes, but her right eye wasn’t working very well, a combination of swelling and dried blood; a window blind of blurriness obstructed most of her vision in that eye. Her good eye took in the nightmare.

Her left wrist was handcuffed to a heavy chain that chewed into her when she pulled at it. In horror, she realized her shirt was torn and her left shoulder and breast were exposed. In a feeble attempt at modesty she yanked up the flap of fabric. The handcuff bit into her more. Never mind the pain, I’m in mortal danger .

“It looks like Sleeping Beauty is awake now,” the same voice announced more loudly. There were more footsteps.

“Look at her, Butch, you messed up her pretty face,” said a voice emerging from the hallway.

“Yah, but she killed Joey,” the other man with the overalls and crazy hair rebutted.

“Joey never looked better. She did him a favor,” said the hallway voice, which belonged to a tall man wearing a cowboy hat. “How’s our little Peeping Tom?”

Darla awoke the next morning to the sounds of voices. Her eyes flicked open, but she kept still, covered by a sheet resplendent in Wonder Woman’s red, white, and blue, which rose and fell with each full breath. Her heart rattling and panic-filled as last night’s ordeal came flooding back, her exposed hand reflexively squeezed the spear gun’s handle for reassurance. After she had confirmed the two intruders were dead, she searched the house for any others, resecured the front door even better, and set up her alarm system once more. Then, she returned to the death scene, Danny still turned away from it as instructed. She dragged the bodies into the master bedroom, throwing towels over the blood and muck so that they wouldn’t have to deal with it in the morning. She tucked in her brother, washed out his underwear, cleaned out her water bottle and refilled it and his as well. Finally, Wonder Woman had enough, and she collapsed into her bed. Surprisingly, both of them had fallen asleep swiftly.

The noises outside brought her back to the here and now, her mind trying to figure out what she was hearing and where the sounds were coming from. It was a bluster of voices, outside their window, carried in on the back of the morning’s delicate breezes. Quietly, so as to not disturb Danny, she swung out of bed wearing only her blue polo shirt and panties, and untangled the spear gun from the bed sheets. She slunk slowly to the window, above where Danny lay rhythmically taking in his raspy breaths. She looked through the spear gun sight, ready to fire, searching for the voices. Her face fell, and then rose again as she laid her weapon on the window sill and bent closer to get a better look.

Hundreds of people were walking by on the same road she and Danny had traveled yesterday, their chattering mumbles unintelligible from this distance. Most were carrying backpacks or rolling a piece of luggage or doing both. They were a motley group of travelers, leisurely walking as if they were early in catching a plane or a train. Their casual gait and friendly banter made them seem oblivious to the apocalypse that had befallen everyone else. Yet, their steps were also purposeful: they knew where they were going, or who they were following. Most importantly, none of them seemed threatening or threatened.

Darla grinned and stretched her limbs, tight from the stress, sore from miles of travel and dehydration. Her decision was quick. Safety in numbers .

“Wake up Danny, it’s time to go,” she whispered softly into his ear.

His eyes popped open. “Are we home?”

“Sorry kiddo, we’re still at that abandoned house—”

He sat straight up, eyes wide. “Where are the bad men?”

Still looking at him, she touched his hair tenderly. “The bad men are gone and we’re fine…” She waited until he was calm again. Then she turned to slip on her shorts and grabbed her backpack from under the bed. “Get dressed; we need to leave right now.” She still spoke soothingly.

“Where are we going?”

“I think somewhere safe.”

He still didn’t move.

“Come on, get dressed!” He knew better than to disobey when he heard that tone.

They were at the back of a horde numbering perhaps a thousand people, all traveling west, away from where Darla had intended to go. She had wanted to move east back to Mamie and Poppy’s house, but several of the group had told the same tale, which felt true. A giant wall of flames had burned much of Chicago, then swept south through Northern Indiana, making the whole Indiana-Illinois border impassible. Others told of large parts of Michigan on fire. When she asked specifically if any had seen Michigan, none had, but many had heard this from others and all had seen Chicago’s fire and smoke. All were sure that getting to Michigan would be a fool’s errand and probably impossible.

Okay, now what ? She couldn’t just leave her grandmother and grandfather. What if they needed her and Danny’s help? But what really pressed at her was the concern that as each day burned away under the intense sun, she and Danny were going to have more and more problems finding food and water. She didn’t just feel this; she knew it.

She also felt like she was being drawn west. She couldn’t explain this, either. Maybe it was Steve and his father, who hopefully made it to Denver when the power went out; she reflexively touched her silver dollar necklace. Of course, even if he was there with his father, how would she find him? She couldn’t even contemplate that something more serious would have happened to him. Going west also brought them closer to the rest of their family. If they made it to Colorado, they could certainly make it to Arizona. And if they made it to Arizona, they could make it to Mexico.

“Are you going to follow the Teacher to the Promised Land?” asked an overly enthusiastic middle-aged man, with soft features and a belly created from many years of playing armchair quarterback over Sunday football. He had dropped back to where Darla and Danny were in the throng of people covering the road, like ants covering a picnic blanket of food.

“Who is the Teacher and where is this Promised Land?” she asked, not wanting to sound foolish, but needing as much information as she could get.

“Oh, you must have just joined us.” His voice rose, more animated than before, and he beckoned to her. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you to one of his staff. Don’t worry, they won’t bite. Look, they have lots of food and water. In fact we all do. The Teacher—he’s our leader—just asks that you contribute your talents to the group as we head west.” Soft Man finished his sales pitch and then was quiet, waiting for her response.

Darla checked off each of the boxes on her mental checklist: food, water, safety with a large group, and they were going west. She wasn’t into joining, but for Danny, she was willing. “Do you have any asthma medicine among your group? My brother has asthma, and we’re out.”

“I’m sure we do. We have practically everything you need. I’m Carl, by the way.” He held his hand out.