Resurrection (6 page)

  “Tell Mama not to hold supper for me Jim,” Charlie said over his shoulder as he walked away. He thought for a moment where he should go next and then decided that west would be as good a direction as any and besides, he had never seen the Pacific Ocean.

Resurrection: Atonement

Chapter 14

The rains stopped altogether after the bombs burned the atmosphere and scorched the ground. The earth erupted in flames hotter than the sun and radioactive ash rained out of the sky. The bombing campaign dubbed Operation Scorched Earth and its aftermath killed more people than the pandemic had but did not wipe out the Wasters as intended.

Later scientists believed that the radiation may have even strengthened the virus and made that plague worse if in fact it could have gotten any worse. The Wasters who were not killed outright by the blasts continued on unaffected by any radioactive fallout, the humans however were not so lucky.

Now, inside the incineration zones and extending for miles in each direction the land became a dry and desolate waste. What was left of the human race were weak, wandering nomads prey to raiders and murderous bands of cutthroats who roamed the wasteland.

No one escaped the suffering brought on by these dual catastrophes, one which was man made the other was which was said to be an act of God. The earth continued to spin in space looking to any extraterrestrial observers who may have been watching as the same peaceful blue marble that had always been present in their night sky.

But the reality on the ground was much different. The humans who were left alive fought a daily struggle and the dark ages reigned supreme once again across the planet.

The military of most countries had been decimated and finding men or women who were willing to sign up to help in the eradication process with just the clothes on their backs and no promise of compensation was a difficult one indeed.

Localized militias had formed long before Scorched Earth in the vacuum the government had left behind. Some of these were out to keep some sort of law in a lawless place, to help the people in the locality and attempt to bring some peace.

Others were out to take what they could and instill fear across the landscape. Bolstered by their numbers and lack of any laws they would roam an area and take what they could and when it was tapped out they would simply move and start over again.

The stronger militias were able to secure their areas and keep out the bad but the weaker ones were just rolled over exposing their soft white underbelly and evil was allowed to rule.

February 11, 2025

One and one half years before Operation Scorched Earth:

It was pouring and waves of rain slashed at the windshield. The wipers slapped monotonously back and forth across the surface of the glass and at times the downpour was so intense that they could scarce keep up.

Mark Theriot cruised down I-10 in the Ford f-150 leaving Louisiana and the ghosts of the past several months in the rear view mirror. He had slowly made his way across south Louisiana; abandoned automobiles lined the interstate where their owners had left them. Yet a few were still buzzing down the highway as survivors attempted to flee from one horrific nightmare to another hopefully not quit as horrific.

But as he had discovered it was the same everywhere, there was no place to escape and he wrestled with the futility of his present actions. But the thought of starting over again in Resurrection drove him onwards.

He turned north when he got to Beaumont to avoid Houston; lord only knows what kind of mayhem he might find there. From now on he intended to avoid the main highways and stick to the back roads which wound through the smaller towns and villages that dotted the landscape.

Events had changed him and he felt the tug of freedom, freedom from himself but that was impossible he knew. The past was the past and it seemed that there would be no future; the present was all there was.

The rain was coming down in sheets making driving impossible and his headlights were of no use so he pulled over at what had at one time been a small rest area to wait out the deluge. The rain pounded against the roof of the truck and he decided to try and get some sleep. He laid his head back against the headrest and tried to relax but his mind would not stop.

He was twenty–eight years old and had his whole life ahead of him but instead living it to the fullest he was waiting out a never ending rainstorm on the side of some deserted road dead in the middle of a society in collapse and he needed to pee. How long can this last? He looked at his watch, now there was an antiquated notion if ever he saw one; time.

In this world there was either not enough time or way too much of it either way it was not an important concept unless one’s bladder was about to burst while waiting for a downpour to end.

He must have nodded off as the next thing he knew the rain had ceased. He gingerly stepped outside the truck to relieve himself and accidently bumped the truck door and it slammed shut.

When he was done he walked around to rest his legs and stretch. Then he heard a sound in the bushes on the other side of the picnic table and stopped to listen and then he heard the sound of footsteps in the grass from coming several directions.

“Wasters!”

He ran back to the pickup and pulled on the handle; it was locked and the keys were in the ignition. He reached for his weapon but it was lying on the seat inside the cab of the truck.

Well this is great; I’ve really decided to go big on stupid tonight. The Wasters came out of the bushes and surrounded him. He jumped on top of the truck but that only provided a temporary refuge from the onslaught.

He ran across the camper shell to the back of the truck and jumped down and tried to open the tailgate but the Wasters were too fast and were on him in an instant.

He ran and hopped-up on the picnic table and then quickly swung himself up onto the metal covering over the table and the Wasters were right behind him. He crawled up to the peak, some of them were able to jump up and crawl onto the roof but they either slid back down or were dragged down by the others.

They surrounded him and their numbers increased as more of them were drawn in by the racket. Some of them were finally able to clamber up onto the roof and as they did he would kick them back down.

At first it was just one or two were able to manage to climb up but eventually he was having trouble keeping up. One grabbed him by his leg and he was able to slip off his boot and the monster slid back down.

Another caught him by his arm and Mark slid down the slick and wet metallic roof but managed to stop himself just before he went over the side. The wasters grabbed hold of him by his head and he lost his grip on the roof and he slid over until his belt caught on a screw and stopped his fall.

I came this far and now it all ends right here at this picnic ground. The Wasters had hold of his hair and he thought they would pull his scalp off with it. He managed to escape their grasp and pull himself back up but he was done physically; he would no longer be able to fight them off.

Suddenly the area was awash with light, a strong beam swept over the area and the Wasters retreated screaming as they went. Mark sat up and covered his eyes and then bursts of gunfire erupted and the Wasters began to fall. The shooting faded as he passed out from exhaustion.

He was still unconscious when the first rays of dawn revealed themselves. After a time it began to drizzle once again waking him. He looked around and saw no evidence of the events of the night; had he been dreaming. He crawled down and got inside the camper shell and slid the back glass open and climbed into the cab. He cursed himself for his stupidity and fell back into a coma.

Chapter 15

“But why do you want me to call him dad? He’s not my dad he’s just your boyfriend; you’re latest one.”

Mark had just turned sixteen and his tumultuous relationship with his mother had become volatile. After years of her abandoning him with aunts and grandparents or alone while she hung out in the bars and saloons chasing down and sleeping with every man she could find Mark felt he did not need to obey her at all.

She had never been there for him when he had needed her most. He used to lie in his bed and cry at night wishing that she would come in and hold him, he longed for her touch and to curl up next to her warm and safe.

“It’s not like that now Mark, we’re married,” his mother said brushing his hair from his face.

Her boyfriends or “man friends” as she called them were more important to her than he was; he had always known that. She would disagree but that was just to keep her conscience from making her nights sleepless and unbearable.

She loved Mark but she loved the saloons and the nightlife and the men more but he was a mistake she would not make again. Their years together had not been good ones, oh yes there were good memories of their life together that he kept inside of his vault, like the Christmas they spent together just the two of them, or the trip to Colorado they went on one summer.

But those moments were far and few between. Countless times he spent locked in his bedroom, his coloring books and toys his only companions while she and her latest “man friend” bounced off the walls in her room.

He lay in bed nights sickened by the sound of his mother’s moans as some drunken man who had only this night removed his wedding band and stuck it in his trousers pocket filled her with himself and snorted and panted his alcohol laced breath into her face.

He had seen his mother’s face bruised and swollen time and again, beaten and bloodied by the beer and whiskey filled sots she brought home and had sex with. He had at one time been a little boy frightened and anxious, but no more; now he was becoming a man.

“I don’t care he isn’t my dad and I am not going to call him that.” Mark said forcefully.

The man she had just married came from the bedroom and slapped Mark hard across the face. “I’ll not have you talking to your mother like that, not in my house.”

“This isn’t your house this is our house, this is my dad’s house!”

The man backhanded Mark, this time squarely on his right cheek and he saw stars. Mark glared at him and balled up his fist.

“Okay what are you going to do boy? You best make it good because if you don’t—”

“Stop, both of you just stop!” his mother yelled pushing Mark back, away from her husband.

Mark grabbed his keys and ran from the house and spun out of the yard and down the street. He drove to the lake at the edge of town and parked and sat as his emotions overflowed.

Tears rolled down his face and he cursed his real father. “Why did you leave us, why did you leave me? I loved you so much,” he cried banging his head against the steering wheel.

He wept until there were no more tears and then sat staring numbly out onto the lake. He stepped from the car and walked onto the dock and gazed into the water and saw his reflection staring back up at him in the still water.

At that moment he wished that he could just let go and fall face first into the water and sink to the bottom letting go of all of the pain inside of him. He wished that he had the guts to go ahead and get it over with; but he didn’t and he knew it.

He shifted into fourth gear and the 4.6 liter v-8 under the hood of his 1998 Ford Mustang GT smoothed out. He sat back with the sunset in his windshield and just drove not knowing where he was going but with the certain knowledge that wherever he landed would be better than here; it had to be.