Rise From the Ashes: Lena's Story (2 page)

It was a few days before the radio received anything but canned pre-taped music - it was from some little town in New Hampshire, relaying information to anyone out there with a radio. So far our electric grid was still up - this is day three into the collapse of our modern world. Day Three AB. Most things must have been running on automatic or with a skeleton crew (pun intended).

We got a small glimpse into what had happened now that the radios were finally broadcasting. Turns out that the Taliban got ahold of some ships. They already had the bombs ... analysts were saying that the virus in the bombs must have degraded while they were in storage - that is why so many of us lived through the bombs. So many. Wow is that a relative term now. So those freaks hit Europe and North America with their bombs.

Then they came at both U.S. coasts to kamikaze anyone they could until someone would finally shoot them to their own special hell. While this was going on, the civil wars in Spain and Greece tanked the rest of Europe, I guess wireless updates say that the whole place from Finland to France and Spain to Turkey is just one big war zone. The governments have all collapsed.

Mexico and South America were not bombed, but now that the big guns (the U.S.) were occupied in just surviving - real riots, mass murder and chaos broke out there - no way we were getting help from there - they had drug lords against each other and then everybody else down there.

There were a few places relatively unharmed, New Zealand, other small isolated countries ... but the whole global game had just imploded and with no stocks or infrastructure - even the rich were now not rich.

You had what you had and the reset button was finally pushed. Owned a swanky jet plane? How nice for you, you have maybe one trip's worth of fuel - better choose your destination wisely because you won't be flying again. There it is - you have just what you have and what you can keep others from taking away from you. But people didn't realize this at first. I certainly didn't.

Four days AB and we got another radio message - seems bad guys were killing cops now. Now the anarchy really started. I started to feel what life was really going to be like if we lost hold of our civilization.

Like I said, a lot of people thought they should head to some bigger cities like Springfield or Keene, even Boston and NYC - safety in numbers and all that. Something told me that wasn't going to work right now - not yet when everything was wildly out of control.

I packed up a backpack with my favorite things and decided I was heading to the country club to be just outside of town. Close enough to walk back into town in an hour but far enough away to get a head start into the woods if I needed to.

This seemed to not mean much, but I think it was the key to my survival, to our survival ... on the way out of town, heading west on Harris Place, I did my first smash and grab. I wanted a hoodie, a dark green one so I could blend in. My old one was white. No good if someone is looking for you in the forest. So I bashed into this new age yoga place, Alli Pacha, (no kidding on the name) and picked out a nice soft hoodie.

On my way out my eye was caught by a rock - a rock in the shape of, oh, I'd say like the Washington Monument. It was a very pretty soft rose/white color and just seemed luminescent. I reached out for it. The tag said Rose Quartz. Who cares? I rolled it in my hoodie and stuffed it all in my backpack. Told Sheriff Edwards where I was off to and why, he seemed to agree with me. Then I was off into hiding.

That night was the first time it happened.

I picked the county club because the rich fools were going to think they were still safe in their homes, the golf course was kind of up and above the main part of Brattleboro, plus it was all rolling lawns so I could see anyone approaching. The club house and tavern was built like an old southern planation mansion, yellow with a deep wrap-around white porch and white columns. I could stand back against the wall and look out and I figured no one coming up the drive would be able to see into the shadows. I kept all the lights off and decided to bunk down in the pro shop, I guess I felt it was safer than sleeping in the open dining room, but really, if some bad guys shot up the place, I was doomed either way. I used my backpack as a pillow and finally drifted off to sleep.

This was what? The fourth or fifth night AB. I was thinking about being alone. Thinking about leaving Brattleboro, but not knowing where to go and while I didn’t want to head to a city, I also didn’t want to run off all by myself and turn into a wild hermit either.

I had not slept well at all since the flash/bangs, my sleep had been fitful and restless. This night, when I finally fell asleep I seemed to drift right into one of my favorite dreams. Me doing some sort of Public Relations work in the White House. Then I am sure I slept deep and normally.

Near morning I remember another dream. There was a guy I had never seen before walking along a railroad track. Sandy blonde hair, brown eyes with a little scruff on his face. He was built really well, I could tell because he was in a short sleeved army green type of shirt with his arms looking just fine in the sun. His pants weren't camo - just the kind of tough pants with pockets all over, a plain tan color. I can't explain it, he seemed to be walking toward me, but I was not in this part of my dream. It was like he was far away, but walking in my direction. I wasn't frightened - not like he was after me or anything. I actually felt like I wanted to run out and lead him back to my hideout.

Well, I laughed at myself, I could do worse than dream about a cute soldier heading my way to protect me.

Then I woke up. Unlike most dreams, this one did not get fuzzy and fade away. I figured it was because that was all I had to concentrate on. We still had power, I guess I could have watched a DVD - but all the TV stations were off the air now.

Not much happened on day five AB, I got bored really quick and started feeling stupid for bugging out of town. I showered up in the locker room realizing that if things got back to normal, I was way too funky. If things got worse, I better enjoy a hot shower while I could.

I munched on lunch from the country club kitchen. Still bored out of my head, I decided I would, just for kicks, walk down to Brattleboro and check in with the sheriff – catch up on the news and maybe, just maybe, stroll along the railroad tracks on my way back up here.

But it was more than a casual thought if I want to be honest. I felt pulled, obsessed, to walk those tracks in the afternoon sun.

Chapter Two

His robes were drenched. Father Steve Polus looked around him, he had been knocked unconscious, fell on the beach - now the tide was lapping at his feet, the beach was deserted and it was mid-morning.

He had been dreaming about a small town by a river or lake in the mountains. He had never been there before, but felt like it was a safe and wonderful place. Young people had been talking and cooking and relaxing in the evening sun. Coming fully awake, Steve looked around him at the sparkling sand.

His memories came flooding back to him - the blinding flash, the bang that was still echoing in his brain. Jesus help me, it was a bomb! Was it a nuke? Steve looked around … no people. He had to see if anyone needed his help. He had to get to his church first to see if any of his parishioners had made their way to the church.

He lifted his brown robes up so he could run; he mumbled a prayer as he covered ground back into the town and up the 5 blocks to his church.

It was a short journey as Steve was in excellent shape. Perhaps the best shape of any priest in Rhode Island, probably any priest in the entire country. He had been a personal trainer (of all things) before he took his vows and he looked on the body as a gift from God - a gift that it was a duty to keep as healthy as one could. He ate organic, worked out and still benefited from being only twenty-seven. He still stretched and went for a small jog every morning.

The ill-health of the former priest at his church put the whole parish in his lap last year. He was a wonderful leader, he loved every aspect of this life.

It had also been a challenge where the women were concerned. He kept his brown hair fairly long and wavy, he was always pleasant and helpful and looked like he got the best of his Mediterranean heritage. In short, he was flat out handsome. It did bring in the younger women to church, but it also brought some serious flirting and he had to be careful to not insult anyone while also making sure he never got cornered alone so that gossip would not start. His interacting with younger guys and playing soccer and football seemed to go over well also. The numbers in his first church had kept going up since he took over nearly a year ago.

As he reached his church parking lot, Steve could see Rt 4 which headed toward Interstate 95 and now knew why the beach was deserted, it was packed with cars evacuating the city - it looked like the eve before a hurricane was set to hit. There didn't seem to be any destruction he could see - so he walked into his office to turn on his small TV and his radio. There was a loop message playing on the TV; calling for an evacuation inland. The whole eastern coast was in danger, dirty bombs had gone off and the Taliban had hijacked some ships and were heading toward the coast - no known target city - so any town close to the beach was in danger.

“Pastor Polus?”

“Ellie! Thank God you’re ok. Come in here and sit down.”

Steve pulled out a chair for one the oldest parishioners in his church. Ellie had to be in her 80’s and came every Sunday to service. Her pure white hair was in unusual disarray. She had a strange look on her face, almost a totally emotionless expression. She was normally the fussing grandmother-type. She took in a loud, shaky gulp of air.

“Frankie is dead.”

“What? Dead? What?”

“Yes, with so many others. I couldn’t take it so I walked back here. Kyle is dragging them all to our cemetery. We will need to say Grace over them, Father.”

“I don’t … what do you mean dead, others?”

“Where have you been, Father?”

“I was knocked out on the beach. I just came to and rushed here.”

“Oh.”

The pause stretched out, Ellie had her head hung in weariness. Steve couldn’t bring himself to ask more right now, he was still processing the fact that there were dead, plural.

In almost a whisper Ellie went on, “After the bomb, the stuff drifting down must have been poison. It killed so many within a few hours. You’ve been out a full day now. We’ve had time to check the homes of our people and taken the ones who died to our cemetery. Kyle is checking the last of them and Glenn and Herb are digging,” she broke off in a sob.

“Oh, dear God help them. Help us.” Steve hung his head. “Ellie, are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

“No. I’m just going to rest here, I can’t go back there. Seeing them, I just … I don’t have the strength to do that anymore. They were my friends. They need you, Father. You better get going.”

“Yes. I’ll be back when I’m done. Rest, Ellie.”

The scene at the cemetery was worse than he was prepared for. All the dear people he had laughed with, played with, taught and cared for. Laid out next to a huge grave. The survivors standing around sobbing, dirt streaking their faces and dirt still being tossed up from deep down inside the grave.

With a deep breath, Steve put his emotions on autopilot and walked into the group to take charge.

The day left him stunned. His small group of about a dozen people headed back down to the church as the sun was sinking. He felt like sinking into nothingness with it. Once they were all sitting around holding hot coffee thanks to Ellie, they didn’t know what to do. The radio was still playing in the background and prompted them with what was next for the small group to do. Now the talk turned to the evacuation.

They were all behind the crowd because they had felt it was there duty to bury their friends and family. It had been. Yet now Steve felt they were in danger. The TV was no longer playing the warning loop, it had gone to static. The only radio stations that were coming in were the ones from further inland, the ones near the coast had gone to static too.

That was simple, but scary.

“Ok everyone. Be careful and head to your homes tonight. Pack a backpack if you have it – if not, see if you can find one or find anything you can strap over your shoulder. Pack just a change of clothes and whatever is precious to you. The roads seemed blocked, we are going to have to walk. At least until we get past the cars that ran out of gas.”

“I’m staying.”

“Ellie! I’ll carry a bag for you. Get going!”

“No, Father Polus. I’m too old. I’m not leaving my home.”