Memories

In the Earth-that-Was, there were gardens behind every house, parks full of lush, green trees. In those days, the sky was blue; people worried about taxes, bumble bees, vacation time. The bees are dead now. The trees too.

This was before the ground shook and the sky turned dark, before suffocating ash replaced snow and turned the surface of the earth into hell. Was it a war? A meteor? I've never met anyone who knew for certain. We just know that the volcanoes erupted, fire rained down, and the sky has been black ever since.

*

Even as the cloud cover darkened towards night, the filter mask and heavy coat made the heat overwhelming. Roxy stepped away from the broken-out window and its bleak view of the skeletal buildings, and returned to the picked-over post office.

She'd spent hours out here, going from house to store to office building. She didn’t mind the scavenging runs for the colony; it gave her a chance to comb the debris for pictures and knick-knacks: things that survived the eruptions that had killed nine in every ten of the small town community.

Of course, her father said there were more essential tasks. Things to prioritize.

In defiance of their commander-in-chief, Roxy had appointed herself Memory-Hunter General. She was building a collection of items from before, so they could remember what their town used to be like.

Suddenly, her search under the counter was interrupted by a loud pop in the distance. The room was bathed in the red glow of a flare arcing through the haze.

That’s the signal. Damn! Wish I’d managed to find more. . . . Roxy made sure she had everything. She grabbed her bags and started to head out.

As she neared the broken-in glass door she’d entered through, something caught her eye. A postcard sticking out of the ashes, it was only slightly charred by the heat. She picked it up and brushed it off. The picture was of clear blue water, people swimming, sandy beaches—a place called ‘The Caribbean’.

“Hey! Roxy! What’re you doin’ over there?!”

She jumped and looked over to see who had shouted. Judging by their clothes it was Ralph, her closest friend, on his way back from his own scavenging run. Ralph liked to wear white clothes, so that he could draw all over them: it was something he called ‘graffiti’, a kind of art his father had handed down to him.

“Dammit Ralph! You scared the hell outta me!”

“Heyhey, sorry!” he raised his hands in mock surrender, “But if you don’t get a move on, you’re gonna be stuck out here, and your dad’ll put me on latrine duty again. . . .” Ralph rubbed the back of his neck, it was a nervous habit. “The gates don’t open once they’re locked, you know that.”

Roxy rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, “I know, I know.”

Ralph took two crab steps towards the camp. “Well, what’re you waiting for? C’mon, let’s go. . . .”

She was struck by a mischievous idea.

“Hey Ralph! What’s that by your foot?”

Ralph looked down, and Roxy started running.

“Race ya, loser!” she shouted, laughing as she ran towards the colony. She heard him utter something, but was already too far ahead.

*

As they ran along cracked asphalt, she could hear Ralph’s heavy footsteps getting closer. When he’d finally caught up, she asked, “So! Find anything good?”

“A little metal, some seed packets, a couple toys for the kiddos, that’s all. How about you? Find anything for your museum?”

“Just a postcard. I did find a pistol, and some batteries that weren’t totally scorched.”

“Oh, nice! Now you’ll have something to protect yourself! Shit—” Ralph’s hood blew back as they ran, they slowed so he could fix it. “To be honest, I’m surprised your dad agreed to let you out here without a gun, especially after he trained us all to use them.”

She laughed him off, “I was gonna come regardless. Anyway, I know how to take care of myself. Who won our last wrestling match? Me!” Roxy pointed at herself with her thumb, grinning through the mask, it was a victory that was long-earned and she brought it up every time she could. “Besides, since they last tried the gates, the bandits don’t come anywhere near this close.”

They got lost in a conversation about the new wrestling counter Ralph was going to turn things around with next time. That kept them going until they reached the colony.

*

The perimeter had high concrete walls. Beyond it, a protective dome covered the main communal area, stopping the ash falling into the small lake in the center. Her dad called it ‘the gazebo’, he had a way of understating things. Whatever you’d call it, it wasn’t hard to miss. Neither was the guard post above the barricaded entrance.

Slowing their approach, they held up their hands to show they weren’t a threat. The watchers were always on edge, especially the closer it got to night.

Sure enough, they heard the clicks of safeties being disabled. Targeting lasers lanced through the dust to land on their chests. It only lasted for a second, before one of them recognized Ralph’s signature clothes.

“Hey Rough Ralph! That you?” Rough Ralph was the nickname he got from the people he taught wrestling to.

He cautiously reached for his mask and removed it, pulling his hood back, showing his black, curly hair and cleft chin. “The one and only! I found Roxy on my way back.”

“Roxy?! Oh shit! Sorry ma’am! At ease, people!” Guns lowered. Safeties switched back on. In a few moments, deadbolts yelped and the gate opened.

One of the cowed guards appeared, asking “Do you want us to radio your father?”

Roxy always felt a little strange being given the royal treatment, “Just let him know I’m back safe. I’m gonna drop this stuff off, then head home.”

Ralph was waiting for her. He was impatient today.

*

They walked in silence to the dropoff point, shuffling out of the heavy coats and starting to unload their packs into the sorting bins. There was less to unload every trip.

Ralph was brushing the ash off a singed plush bear, his expression had darkened.

“You okay, Ralphy?”

“Huh?” he looked up, surprised out of his thoughts, “Oh, yeah. I was just wondering . . . how much do you remember, about before the eruptions?”

“Not much, if anything. I was four when it happened. You’d probably remember more than me.”

He snorted at that, it blew dust off his shoulder, “Girl! I’m only, like, a year and a half older than you, ya know? What about your dad? Doesn’t he ever tell you stories about back then?[a]”

“No, he doesn’t like to talk about it. Makes him remember Mom too much, I think.” She fed the packs of batteries into a tray. “According to Dad, she saved me during the eruptions . . . but she died.” Roxy hid behind a wry expression that didn’t fit her face, “I haven’t managed to get the full story. Where’s this even coming from anyway?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Just thinking about the past . . . the future, you know?”

They stepped under a whirring vent and were hit with cold air, blowing away the ash still stuck to their clothes. In one motion, Ralph turned to her and pressed something cold and heavy into her palm.

“Found this out there. Thought you might want it for your collection? People used to wear things like this.” He gave her a wink, and took off quickly.

Opening her hand, she saw that it was a locket in the shape of a heart. It was metal, maybe brass, but it looked like gold. Smooth, Roxy thought as he made a getaway.

Behind her, a tall man cleared his throat. He was well built, with a handlebar mustache, and stood with a certain military bearing. “What are you looking at?” It was a sternness he only used in jest with her.

“Dad!” She hugged tight into the tobacco-scented uniform.

“Glad you made it back safely honey. . . . So, what d’you have there?”

“Oh, just a thing Ralph found, you know, for my collection?”

Was that why? She held it up for him. As she did, his eyes went wide. He gaped at it.

“I’ll be damned. Fuck. What’re the chances?” he mumbled to himself. Roxy rarely heard him swear, especially around her. He touched it like it might shatter.

“Come on! To the house! I gotta show you something.” He was already off at double speed.

*

By the time she reached the house (a long metal relic of when the area was a trailer park) the front door was wide open. She could hear her dad rummaging through his room. Before she’d even taken her boots off, he came out holding a picture of her mother. It was one she’d seen before: she was sitting at a table, laughing wide, looking beautiful. Angela—everyone said she looked like her, Roxy didn’t see it.

Tears stood out in her dad’s eyes, “Here! Look, look!” He pointed with a heavy finger. In the picture, her mom was wearing the exact same locket that was in her hands.

Roxy was dumbfounded.

“Dad . . . you’ve never told me what happened. . . .”

“Roxy . . .”

*

Ben pounded back up the basement stairs. The ANNC was repeating its warning on the TV: shelter in place, wait for help, ‘Our prayers are with you’. The footage of fiery boulders raining from the sky played on a loop. Salt Lake City. Denver. Jesus, it’s all burning.

“Angela!” he yelled up the stairs, she was packing, “Get Roxy down into the basement! I got one last thing to grab!”

Ben made his way out to the truck, intent on grabbing his rifle. If his years in the army reserves had taught him anything, it was that there were bound to be people trying to take what others had—If anyone survives this. He fought that thought all the way down. They had supplies for at least a month. The basement was hurricane safe. Flood safe. Safe.

*

It’s funny what you remember. A yellow humvee sped past, its sound system blared something saccharine. Is that . . . Spice Girls? That was what he was thinking, leaning into the cab of his truck, when a flaming rock fell through their house.

*

Bwoom! 

The detonation was like a stick of TNT going off. Parts of the house were simply gone, wood was punched in like polystyrene. The fire began to spread: a hot coal in a pile of tinder.

“Angela!” He ran in, expecting the worst. Please be down there. Please, God. 

It was bad. The bedroom had buried the living room. Nothing was familiar in its destruction. Flame licked the debris. He pushed through.

The basement door was folded into a coil of splinters. The drywall had come down with the main beam. Angela was doubled over, buried under all of it, Roxy in her arms.

Plaster dust shifted. She moved!

He crossed the kitchen in a single stride. Alive! They were alive!

Angela cried out in pain. His stomach sank. Her legs disappeared under the collapse. Her back folded wrong. He tugged the heavy beam. Nothing. The kitchen was on fire but if he could—

The house groaned overhead, warning them that it couldn’t stand much longer.

“Take our daughter. Keep her safe.” Angela said, kissing Roxy’s forehead. It was so casual it hurt. She had accepted it, she was always so much stronger than him. “I love you both.”

“We love you too.” he replied.

*

He carried Roxy out of that hell, unprepared, dislocated, into the chaos on the street.

*

They were both sobbing. Arms wrapped around each other in a healing embrace, letting out the pain, tears falling onto the plastic-topped kitchen table.

        They sat there for a long time, until the position hurt, and then a little longer.

        Her dad laughed, pressure relieved.

        “Remind me to invite Ralph over for dinner.”

        They both laughed, finally.