After the Apocalypse

The afternoon sun slanted warm across the river’s surface.  The water was high from the recent rains and a muddy hue swirled in the shallows.  Early may flies prickled the surface here and there and lazy ripples hinted of fish and dorsal fins.

A cottonwood tree trailed its branches into the flow creating a rip in the otherwise placid waters.  In the low hiss of water sounds a man cleared his throat.

“How long you been here?” the teenager asked.

The old man leaned back, cleared his throat again, pulled aside the protective gauze of his mask and spat.  “Couple years now.” He eyed the younger soul with a mix of weariness and caution.

The boy continued, leaning back into a fallen tree, feigning disinterest, looking carefully sideways at the old man with shaded eyes.  “You must’ve seen a lot in your time.  You must’ve been here in the before times?”

For the boy knew that the older ones liked to talk about the before times.  Maybe he could get this surly old one off his guard.

“Yeah, I was there.” The old man relaxed a bit and readjusted the weight of his wiry frame like a gymnast limbering up.  “I was up north when it began.  I worked my way down here where it’s warmer in the winters after the first wave passed.”

“It got pretty weird.  Once the system got pushed beyond its limits things got bad fast.”  He eyed the boy, and gestured with a shrug to a partially collapsed, burnt out building tipping into the river a few kilometers downstream.

“A lot of people died.” He finished as if to say, ‘that’s all I have to say’.

But the boy wouldn’t let it rest and pulled the thread.  “I heard there was the dying and then those that was left took to killin each other.”

The old man shrugged.  “Once the supply chain broke down it was a zero-sum game. Take a place like New York City, you had 20-30,000 people per square mile and no way to keep them fed.  Starving people don’t act reasonably.”  He looked out over the water.  “It sorted itself out.”

The boy looked over the man’s shoulder, eyeing the house and then back at the man, himself.  “What did you do back before, mister?”

A sharp look.  “It doesn’t matter, boy.  I was fast and smart enough to make it out into the country and stay alive.  We covered 100 hard miles that first day and got out of the trouble.  Those that couldn’t run, stayed and died. We ran and lived.” His eyes clouded over with the faces of remembered ghosts.

The boy adjusted his respirator and casually moved his hand towards the hilt of his machete, as if brushing off a bit of dirt.   “You got anything to trade, mister?”

“I have some dried fish and squirrel, plus some sweet marsh plant that makes a pretty good stew.  I’ll feed you kid.  I have what I need here.  But I’m not looking for company.”

“I won’t say ‘no’ to a meal Mister. You’ve got a pretty good set up here.”

“I survive.”

“Thanks Mister, let me cut some wood for a fire.”  The boy said, smiling and unsheathing the big knife and shouldering his way casually forward.

The old man rolled quickly over the log he was seated on.  Landing on his feet, he took off running along the sandy shingle of the river.

“Come back here you son of a bitch!” yelled the teenager taking off in pursuit.

The old man settled into a hard pace, his homemade cleated shoes biting firmly into the soft mud.  The boy was close on his heels swearing and slipping.

A well-traveled trail opening on the left and the old man had disappeared into the forest and up a steep, loose, rocky climb.

The kid was pretty good and was staying close.  Others had given up at the site of the big climb.  The man breathed deeply in through the protective gauze, filling his lungs to soothe the burning in his thighs.  Three more stilted strides pushed him over the crest and he shook out his arms, unfolding his lanky frame for the long decent along the crest.

He could hear the kid about 25 meters back now struggling up the loose slope.  He relaxed his form and balanced his body against the downhill with long, quick strides.

Through a cedar thicket and back out onto the beach he pushed hard now for the house.  He rounded a corner and reached for where he knew it would be.

…

The kid was breathing hard when he came into view.  He looked quiet surprised, eyes wide behind his mask as the old man settled his breathing and released the crossbow bolt.

…

The old man scratched his scraggly beard under his mask and fished an old medal from the box.

He hung it around the boy’s neck as he rolled the body into the swiftly flowing stream.