Harvest Earth (12 page)

24    Madison

“People without faith, themselves they cannot survive.” Leathery skin around the woman’s mouth cracks as she speaks. “That is how you survived, yes? On faith?”

Taking a long drink of water from a canteen that had been given to her, Madison allows herself a patient moment to consider her answer. What had kept her alive was the thought of never really living. Was that faith? Faith that a better life waited for her should she survive? Madison smiles and simply replies, “Yes.”

This seemed to please the other woman because she returns Madison’s grin. The woman was careful to keep her lips sealed, however, for Madison had noticed she was missing several of her teeth.

This woman who had saved her and Pvt. Hillman had seemed at first to be like an angel, especially in the dim light of the entryway tunnel. But now that they were out in the open outside the base, the sun going down in the distance, Madison sees that she is in fact just human, the same as any other. She is worn, tired and has seen better days.

She has long dark hair, with speckles of gray, and bronzed taunt skin. Madison has difficulty reading the woman. Her face hides her age, it has been stretched too thin and her eyes look yellowed. The woman’s body is thin, knobby at its points. But when she speaks, the woman sounds younger than she appears. Her voice is almost melodious with its regional accent. She wears a gemstone cross necklace around her neck. Madison assumes it is a sign of the woman’s own faith. Madison sees that the woman had been beaten down, much like Madison herself now imagines she looks covered in dirt, famished and injured.

The woman introduces herself, “My name is Debra Whitehorn.” She holds out her palm and Madison happily takes it. The bones beneath protrude through the woman’s flesh.

“Lt. Madison Hart.” Madison replies, ignoring the odd sensation of feeling someone else’s skeleton beneath their skin.

“And your friend?” The woman gestures to Pvt. Hillman. The Private had slunk away to sit off by the side of the road away from the other two women. She is examining her rifle now, the dog hovering around her as she works.

“Not really my friend.” Madison utters, taking another sip of water. Madison remembers the sound of bullets flying over her head back in the entryway. “But she goes by Hillman.” Madison finishes and then swallows another cleansing gulp of water.

“Hillman!” The woman shouts unexpectedly, causing both of the airmen to tense up. “Copper likes you.” Debra says, referring to the dog as it does circles around Pvt. Hillman’s feet before lying down. The Private just smiles back before taking a bite out of a piece of dried jerky that Debra had brought for them.

“How did you know we were here?” Madison asks as she hands the water canteen back to Debra, only to have Debra refuse to take it.

“I’ve always known.” She says. Madison tries to hide her shock. She can’t count all the lectures she has heard on the importance of keeping the base secret. The words of her commanders whirl around in her head. “My house isn’t too far from here,” Debra continues, as if able to read Madison’s mind. “I see trucks heading up this way all the time. Plus,” Debra pauses to smile. “The local girls talk.”

“The local girls?” Madison doesn’t understand.

“You don’t think all those men stay cooped in there all the time do you?” Debra says as she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

“I don’t-“ Madison has no words. She had never heard of anyone sneaking out of the base during the night to have their baser needs met. But then again, Madison supposed it was entirely possible. “All I know,” Madison says coyly, “is that I bet none of the local boys talk much.”

Debra must have liked this answer because she laughs heartily. He voice echoes off the side of the mountain. The rows of Debra’s misshapen teeth clearly visible in her mouth. The laughter rings off the rock and down into the desert plain below. Madison thinks she can almost see the sound as it rolls away for miles in a dust cloud, dissipating as it approaches the fading horizon.

“I thank you for saving us.” Madison says with as genuine sincerity as is within her. “I don’t know what would have happened had you not come.”

“Oh” Debra says, “Someone else would have come for you.” Her grin vanishes and her lips pull closed in a tight line. “Only, I don’t know if you’re ready to meet them yet.”

Debra knows something, something that she isn’t sharing with the airmen. Madison can sense it. She may even know something about the attack. Might know about what had happened to the base. “Debra, do you know what happened here?” Madison probes.

Debra falls silent for a moment. She reflectively studies the contours of her hands, the skin pulled tight over her knuckles. “What happened here-” Debra begins, but pauses. Madison can tell by the pace of the woman’s voice that she is choosing her words carefully. “What happened here is what was meant to happen. It is-” She pauses again, Debra’s hand drift up to her neckline and she starts to stroke the chain of her necklace. “It is the will of God.”

The vagueness of Debra’s response leaves Madison with an eerie feeling that overcomes any feelings of bliss Madison had felt before just for being alive. Madison reaches out her hand and places it on Debra’s shoulder. She intends it as a comforting gesture, though Debra seems not to accept it as such. She glares at Madison, the wrinkles around her eyes furrowing.

“Debra,” Madison says softly. “If you know what happened here, you need to tell me.”

Debra responds by shrugging Madison’s hand off of her shoulder. “Here, Copper!” Debra hollers, turning away from Madison. The woman starts patting her knees and the dog bolts happily over to her. With a gesture from Debra, the dog then runs up and hops over the tailgate into the back of Debra’s pick-up truck. “We should get going. It will be dark soon.”

Debra is moving as if she hasn’t heard Madison at all.

“We’re not leaving.” It is Pvt. Hillman this time. She mutters the words as she continues to clean her rifle. The Private’s eyes never leave the barrel of her gun. “We should stay here in case someone comes looking for us.”

“Hillman!” Madison starts. The Private’s incessant need to protect the base was an obsession.

But before the two airmen could get into an argument Debra cuts Madison off with a gentle wave of her hand. “You can stay if you want. But I think there is someone who you very much want to meet.” Debra says to Pvt. Hillman as she casually opens the driver’s side door of her vehicle.

“Oh yeah, and who is that?” Pvt. Hillman says, giving the woman a quick and uneasy glare.

Debra puts her keys into the ignition and starts up the pick-up. The engine rolls over and a plume of smoke billows out of the exhaust pipe. Madison starts making her way into the passenger’s set. There is no way that Madison is going to be left behind.

Debra peers out the window of the truck at Pvt. Hillman, who is still stubbornly sitting on the ground. Pvt. Hillman meets Debra’s gaze. Debra matches the intensity of Pvt. Hillman stare and grins.

“Well?” Pvt. Hillman says impatiently. “Who is this important person that I’m supposed to meet? Huh?”

Debra’s smile is broad and sincere as she says, “My son.”

25    Gabriel

After his tears are all dried up Gabriel rehydrates himself with a bottle of tequila. He drowns his body in alcohol, filling the hollow places inside him with liquor.

Gabriel keeps the bottle on the top shelf of his bedroom closet, hidden behind a shoe box. He was always so careful to hide such dangerous things from his children. His father had drank in front of them, often in the evenings. Gabriel remembered the way it would make his father sloppy and inappropriate. He remembered how his father would make rude or inappropriate comments, things he wouldn’t have said otherwise. Gabriel had loved his father but hated the drinking.

Gabriel had vowed never to drink in front of his own daughters. He kept the bottle in his bedroom closet only for when they were both asleep. He needed it sometimes to drown the thoughts of their mother. Of the life he had lost with her. Sometimes he needed the bottle because it was the only way he could fall asleep.

Now Gabriel sits in his children’s own room with no shame as the neck of the tequila bottle dangles from his fingers. He isn’t supposed to drink this much, his body tells him as much, but in that moment Gabriel doesn’t care.

Looking at the dolls on his daughters’ dressers, the few that he had been able to afford for them, Gabriel remembers the looks on his daughters’ faces when they had peeled away the packaging. He had to always buy two. Always two to make sure that they didn’t fight. Sometimes they would fight anyway.

“No, I want to be the teacher!” Isabel would say whenever her younger sister Mary tried to excerpt some small measure of control.

“But you were the teacher last time!” Mary would shout back.

Gabriel’s daughters would often play “classroom”. They would line up all of their dolls and have them sit in rows facing the wall. Then the two sisters would fight over who got to play teacher and who had to sit and play student. The teacher would assign projects. Usually they were coloring assignments or simple math problems. The student would pretend to be happy while completing them. Although occasionally when resigned to the role of student Mary would act up. She would pretend to be the “class clown” just to give her sister some grief.

Hearing their laughter spilling of their room, Gabriel would sometimes set up a listening post in the hallway. He would just stand and listen to the sound of them giggling. To Gabriel there was no sweeter sound.

Sitting on Mary’s bed, the bottom bed of his girls’ bunk beds, Gabriel can still hear these ghosts laughing. The imprints of their tiny voices were ingrained in the floorboards and in the white paint that coated the walls. Gabriel remembers he had promised to paint his daughters’ room for them. He had promised them so many things. Not just a loud but in the stillness of his heart.

Gabriel had promised himself that his daughters would graduate high school and somehow he would find a way to pay for them to go to college. He had promised to protect them from boys, or girls, until each of his treasures found that special someone to take over his watch. Gabriel had promised to give his daughters away on their wedding days, and to dance with each of them during the reception. Gabriel had promised to help care for his daughters’ children, Gabriel’s grandchildren. To dote on them the way Gabriel’s own grandparents had spoiled him. Gabriel had promised himself so much for daughters, and he had failed in every regard.

Gabriel was a failure. He had failed to protect his daughters. The world had ended. Gabriel feels the truth of it in his bones. While he is still alive, by some miracle having managed to protect himself, Gabriel’s daughters were gone forever.

Forlorn, Gabriel takes another swig of tequila. The liquid swashes down the back of his throat and a strong bitterness fills his mouth. Gabriel has to shake his head and clamp his lips closed to keep the fluid down. Gabriel’s body is resisting the alcohol. No one should ever drink this much. Gabriel knows it, but doesn’t care.

He could live for a long time in this new world, Gabriel knows. The saucers had taken all of the people but had left behind all of the supplies. Grocery stores are still filled with food and he could find enough supplies to last him until the end of his life. He could even plant a garden on the roof of the building and find some chickens down in the Italian market to raise. Gabriel could get books from the library and teach himself how to farm. He could recycle his waste and use it as compost. Without all the people, all the cars polluting the atmosphere, the days might not even be so hot. Maybe the weather would go back to the way things were when he was a kid.

Now Gabriel could spend time doing the things he had never been able to. The things he had never had time for. He could finally finish reading through his Bible, an endeavor he had committed himself to a long time ago.

Gabriel knew he could live forever like this. The grief would pass or at least become bearable. The same way that the grief had faded when the love of Gabriel’s life, the mother of his children, had passed. That pain had been intolerable but he had gotten through it. He had to get through it for his Isabel and his new baby girl. Gabriel had a reason to survive back then. He had needed to be strong for his daughters.

Now Gabriel is alone. The pain would probably pass but Gabriel didn’t want it to. There is no one left to be strong for.

The revolver in the back of Gabriel’s belt loop digs into his spine. He pulls it out and flips open the ammo cartridge. It is still empty. Gabriel wishes somehow that would magically change. He only needs one bullet. Just one would do the trick.

Gabriel tries to think but the alcohol clouds his brain. It makes it hard to concentrate. Gabriel has a vague memory of a neighbor. A neighbor who had shown Gabriel something, something he kept by his nightstand. His name was Tyler, Gabriel remembers now. He had invited Gabriel over, him and his girls. Tyler had a daughter too about Isabel’s age, Gabriel remembers. They had played in the living room while Tyler talked to Gabriel about the importance of protecting one’s family. They talked about the importance of keeping their daughters safe.

Tyler had showed Gabriel his gun. It was a forty-five caliber handgun he kept by his bed. Tyler had let Gabriel hold it, see how it felt. He had tried to convince Gabriel to get one for himself. Gabriel said he would, in the moment, just to appease his host but never did. He was too fearful of his daughters finding it. He feared the day when he would find them playing with daddy’s toy. The images that followed were grim and Gabriel struggles to swallow down another gulp of alcohol to wash the images away.

This gulp, however, is one that Gabriel can’t keep down. He coughs and the liquid spews out of his mouth across the room. Drops of tequila hang on his daughters’ dresser, on their dolls and their playset. Gabriel feels revolted. The alcohol is making his head spin.

He had heard somewhere that tequila was the only source of alcohol that wasn’t a depressant. In that moment, Gabriel is so low, his heart so empty, it doesn’t matter. Gabriel couldn’t have smiled even had someone pried his lips apart. His face is stone and his whole body is petrified with grief.

There was no way he could go on like this. No way to go on.