Eden

To the right of the footpath leading up to the old lean-to, a slab of bark marked 'Eden', was mounted in the fork of an autumn spire. On the left, bound to another tree of the same ilk hung the long-dead remains of a little forgotten youth. Now no more than a bundle of bones and tattered wolf skins. A gas mask hung from the howling skull. A bullet hole through one of the shattered lenses and a crushed temple declared how he had died. The lean-to was a log cabin half-carved and half-built into the side of the mountain, in some by-gone era by some unknown forester. In the World Before, it would have hardly been acknowledged as an eyesore and dismissed as nothing more. For years it stood forgotten, its thatched roof failing, chimney crumbling and inside littered with rusty cast iron effects; sadly awaiting the day of the surveyor and the bobcat. It had now been nine summers since the two had happened upon it. In the now called, Times of Trouble, as the World Before thrashed out its fiery swan song, they had come up this mountain limping, starving, bloody and exhausted. The eyesore to them had been a haven. Eden, they had come to call it, today bore little resemblance to a ramshackle hutch, and save for the grisly warning at the head of the path, held all the promise of an old-time homestead.

On this day, a pair of trousers, patched and threadbare were hung to dry between two jack pines across the yard opposite the lean-to. Alongside a tired gray sheet both threadbare and stained with old blood. After years of effort, the stains were fading, but only as the sheet itself was steadily disintegrating, making it little more than a discolored veil at this point. All across the yard mother hens and their broods clucked and pecked at the trodden footpaths while Artic Lupines and Arnicas brightly dotted the yard all around the lean-to.

In the garden next to the yard, Querida raised herself to stretch her back. Face beaded with sweat, she turned to welcome a light breeze. She noted the breeze was cooler than it had been of late. All around her, where she knelt in the dirt, the furrows lay disheveled from her harvesting. She was on her last row and had almost made it back around to the crude gate where she had started. Another light gust danced the long red ribbon that sinched her unruly chestnut mane. In her mind, she weighed it against seasons past and returned optimistic that this summer would give her a few more weeks. Humming to herself, she gouged the earth with the K-Bar to adroitly pry up the plant by the roots. Changing hands, she used the knife to harvest no less than five potatoes. Including a monster nearly the size of her fist.

“¡Cabrón!” She exulted. “You are a big boy, aren’t you?” Tears nearly welling in her eyes as she studied it.

“We're getting better at this.” She affirmed, settling it into an old rucksack, as carefully as one puts an infant to sleep. The rucksack was half full of potatoes, beets, and carrots. This was the best haul they’d had since learning to grow. More than satisfied with the take, she was now at leisure to begin preparing it. For a moment she imagined not even cooking the monster but keeping it. A fleeting image of it displayed above the fireplace flashed through her mind. Her head dipped as she snorted at the absurdity of it, the back of her hand popping up to hide her grin. No. But she could at least be proud of herself, right?

Looking around, she reflected on how far they’d come. Ethan was out checking his traps now and would be back soon, likely carrying home a turkey to accompany these vegetables. When they had met as kids in the World Before, he could barely put a bead of toothpaste on the end of a brush, now a skilled survivalist, albeit of pure necessity. Back then all he had ever known was fighting, and all he ever wanted was rest. He was often detached and apathetic, and she knew her mother would not approve of a man without conviction. Still, she loved him, even if the oaf was slow to catch on. He had a snide sense of humor she adored, and his stoic nature was a good balance to her volatility. She knew he loved her, and he would often say that she was all that kept him from sinking. Together they had narrowly escaped death so many times, she had likened it to threading the eyes of a thousand needles with no do-overs. She held it as proof enough of a God and of some greater purpose. He would counter, that with so much savagery, death, and misery in the world; God must not give a shit. They had arrived and remained on the mountain together, and, looking at it now, she found the courage to be proud of what they had done here. The life they had plucked from the jaws of so much death.

Before attempting to rise, she thought about their miserable first attempts at growing food, and how they had barely survived those first few winters up here. Remembering that her mother had endured much, and she never got to say goodbye, her hand went to the pendant around her neck. Wherein, her mother’s last picture, had been hastily cut long ago into the same heart shape as the locket itself. Would Mama be proud? Of her man? Of her home? Except the locket wasn’t there.

“Oh yeah.” She gasped; “She’s in the jacket.”

Initially startled at missing her mother’s locket, then remembering she had hung the old field jacket on a branch, her nerves soon dissipated. The quietness of the last few summers and even the winters was encouraging. More encouraging still was glancing inside the rucksack to see Big Boy smiling up at her. One hand on a fence post and hoisting the sack onto her shoulder, she counted to three and hefted herself onto her feet. A twinge of pain, and she massaged her paunch. She reckoned three more moons.

Withdrawing her jacket from the branch and slipping one arm inside, she noticed a figure running flat out up the trail heading for Eden. It was Ethan! Donning the other arm, she, on tiptoes waved exuberantly. Eager to show him what they had made. He had been checking traps all morning but carried nothing. In another moment he was in the yard. The wild look in his eyes filled her with a sudden dread as she felt a pit in her stomach. Maybe he just really wanted to kiss her? She imagined for an instant, wishing to be back in the garden.

Clutching her arm, his voice breathless yet stern said;

“We need to go inside. NOW.”; His face drained of color as if to flush his entire beard gray this very afternoon.

“And we'll need the guns.”

“Did you catch something?” She stalled. With a single motion, he jerked the sheet from the line. And then the trousers for good measure.

“Might as well be a goddamn invitation.”; He muttered low while bunching up the laundry. His efforts to mask his angst more transparent than the blood-stained sheet. He hovered close.

“Someone’s coming.”

She said nothing, only her eyes darted about as it began to sink in. He glanced back down the trail and clutching at a loaf of his thick greasy hair said,

“Three. I saw three people. Checking the trap by the southern fork…”

“By the raccoon den?”

“Yes, by the raccoon den.”; He looked at the ground and then back at her. “They wore gasmasks and skins.”

“Wolf skins?”; Her voice a low whisper. “Like before?”

“Yes, baby." His words stumbled. "Like before. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. And right now, we need to go inside…”

Ethan continued explaining but a pounding in her ears drowned him out. Her jittery hand brushed the pocket of her jacket, recognizing the heavy gold locket inside, she reached in to retrieve it.

“Ethan,”; She interrupted, vaguely noticing he was already guiding her by the arm into the cabin.

“How much money do we have left?”; Sitting her down on the bed. He drew up one of the rickety wooden chairs.

“Three bullets for the chopped down rifle, two shells for the side by side.”

“Last time, we had what? Nineteen and twenty?”

“Something like that.”; As he got the weapons ready.

“You saw three today?”

“Yeah, three.”

“Do we have enough money?”

“Two carried bow and spear. The leader carried an old AK."

“He’s bluffing right?”

“Of course, he’s bluffing.”

“Ethan, what's going to happen?”

“I’m going to kill them.”

“How many were there last time?”

He stopped, reluctant to answer.

“How many??”; She snarled. He sat in the chair, ambivalent to hand her a weapon.

“I buried twelve. The other three … I posted up as a warning. “; He managed.

Her eyes were ablaze with hatred.

“I stopped 'em, didn't I?”; Ethan pleaded.

“The war, the Old World, none of it matters anymore. Only this! It’s been five years, and I can still feel them. I still remember the things they said, how they smelled, his weight on top of me. Our life Ethan..."; She cried, motioning around them.

"They tried to take it from us. They were here. They were inside! And now they're coming back?” 

At this, Ethan came unhinged. The chair whipped out from under him as he smashed it against the wall. Turning, he flipped the half-log table on its side cascading everything on it into the corner and shaking the room. Spinning his heels on the dirt, he reeled about for something else to destroy but seeing her condition stayed his hand.

"I'm sorry."; She said, "It's still scary. . .How are they back?"

Outside, movement through the slats of the door. Their eyes cut and met again. Muffled voices were heard. Ethan clutching the cut down, breathing hard, his face flushed and popping with veins.

“I live with it too Queri. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop them. But when I got here to you I pulled them off and I shot them right where you’re sitting. Remember? Then I found the others, and I shot them too. I shot 'em and I smashed 'em. Smashed in their faces. All I could find. And I just kept ... smashing … even after they stopped moving. Because I couldn't take it back.”

“I remember.” She whispered, only managing a hush.

She remembered everything. Like when they were kids in the World Before, how he had often been apathetic and detached. How their struggle through warzones and cruel winters had been anguishing and yet they had survived it all together. Threading the eyes of a thousand needles. Waxing clear as the memory of the invasion that day, was the memory of his return that night. Roused to action by the event, he returned that night, eyes wild and savage, slopped head to toe with blood and brain. He had always reacted to avenge her but had returned to her as a shield. The oaf was slow to catch on.

And today with the resurgent threat just outside the door, she knew he would seek no truce. He would smash, and they would die. At last dedicated and empassioned, no longer waiting for God to give a shit.

Outside a voice called out clearer.

“You hung up our brothers! “; AK-47 pounding the door. "But now we're grown up,"

“Whatever happened before,”; Ethan placated; “these stupid fuckers aren't going to touch you, or the baby, or take one step inside Eden.”

“And we got some New World money for ya old man!!”; AK prattled.

Ethen drew the loaded shotgun from his belt. Her hand opened to receive it, revealing her mother’s locket in her dirty palm. She had forgotten she still had it. She slipped it on, and he kissed her brilliantly. Standing side by side, they both took aim at the door. Today she knew these whelps didn’t stand a chance. Mama would be proud.