Safe Haven

On a dusty camouflaged tarp out in the plateaus of Afghanistan, Gabe reflected. Sergeant Delaney was intricately sewn onto the left breast pocket over his heart, in which held a faded picture of his wife Kate and 13-year-old daughter Tessa, with himself between the two and holding them closely. He never imagined at the time that this picture would be one of the last times he saw his family. If only he had known – he would have never left.

The picture exquisitely illustrated just how much the two girls resembled one another. Both with amber-colored hair, green piercing eyes, and even in such a faded photograph, their bright smiles still glimmered. The picture was signed by his daughter. To Dad, with a small squiggled heart in the corner. It was not very proportionate, but he liked it that way. He almost forgot that to Tessa, he was just Dad. The soldiers stationed at camp solely referred to him by the title he dreaded most– Sergeant Delaney. It carried weight difficult for him to bare. The responsibility of teams of men relying on him to make life and death decisions in the blink of an eye slowly began to paralyze his character. The quick and wittiness of the soldier gradually molded to discipline. This disciplined role consumed him. Sergeant became his identity, when what was getting him through each day and night was the thought of one day, soon, being able to go back to being simply Dad.

Flashbacks from the many tours in Afghanistan incessantly haunt him. A true nightmare, and not much different from the current reality he and many others are now trapped living. A continuous purgatory. The days are the same. Long. He stopped keeping track of how many days had passed since he returned from his tour – the days that he had last seen Kate and Tessa. All that is left now on their estate is the old windmill he now resides in.

His wife Kate took care of the property while he was deployed. The two of them ran a renewable power supply company, specifically in that of windmills. He had grown to have a large appreciation for sustainable sources of energy. The environment was his ally; it kept him alive on his deployments back in Afghanistan. The shrubbery shielded him from the penetrating heat. In lower elevations, the cedar trees provided him coverage from the wills of the elements. Though in those times, Gabe prayed for drops of rain due to his constant state of dehydration out in the desert. Crops he harvested yielded him sustenance, alongside his team of men, in order to continue their days of journey in the endless plateau of the Registan.

He could not partake in an enterprise that would cause harm to the environment, to what kept his body replenished. This bond to nature is where his wind source energy estate was born. In the bases of the windmills, he had families rent out the square footage on the first level. They would keep the windmills running and had a place to stay – a symbiotic relationship, he thought. The passive income from the windmills was provided to his wife and daughter while he was away. His primary obligation has always been to the United States military.

Once imminent destruction took place and a dystopian society arose from the ashes of a once esteemed suburbia, those that took shelter in the base of the windmills fled. His home is the last windmill working in a field upon hundreds. The turbines creek slowly, with the momentum of the windmill grasping clumps of air with its arms and fueling his abode with light and warmth. He vividly remembers flying over the estate of windmills on the day he was discharged and was returning to his family. It resembled that of a green canvas of art, covered in a series of white speckles. He was unaware, at the time, that there would not be anyone there to greet him upon his arrival. He knows now he is the only who remains in the windmills, in complete and utter isolation.

The only consonance to his state of distress are the fond memories he replays in his mind. He thinks to one of his favorites – taking his daughter shooting, just like his father did with him. Tessa had a keen eye, a natural mastery in hand-eye coordination. With the slight exhale and pull of a trigger, Tessa would hit the bullseye, every time. His wife would shake her head with laughter. “She really is your daughter, isn’t she”, she would say with a keen smile. Kate snapped a quick photograph of the two of them sharing their special moment.

The fog of the memory clears his mind. He began to fathom, could she still be out there? He presses the palm of his hand to his chin, skin brushing his face like leather that was hardened from his own days of shooting out on his tours abroad. If she still was, he knew with everything that he taught her that she would be able to fend for herself. The day he was leaving for deployment, he gave his daughter this particular photograph his wide snapped of them from their shooting escapade, encased in a heart-shaped locket – a picture of the two of them doing what they loved most together. He took the silver trinket and enclosed the clasp underneath her amber hair. “My heart’s always with you, kiddo”, he told her.

He was unaware of when his next return home would be, but he was cognizant it wouldn’t be long before the collapse of society as how he knew it to be. He saw first-hand the slow decay of the once stable government. It imminently began to trickle into the military. His buddies up in the classified intel denomination gave him insight of where the U.S. was heading, and it was towards complete and utter chaos. Anarchy. This intel is why he initially got Tessa into guns to begin with, knowing this day was vastly approaching. He wanted her to be able to protect herself with him not around.

He sits and deep breathes, taking in a large inhale, letting the thick fresh air expand his lungs and sighing out while tasting the precipitation of the morning dew on his tongue. He has an appreciation for the clean air of LaSalle, especially after breathing in dust for months on end in the deserts of Afghanistan.

LaSalle, Illinois, a small town southwest of the once prominent Windy City of Chicago, has always been their home. He remembered taking his daughter there for the Cubs games. On the two and a half hour rides to the city, they laughed and made up for all the time that had elapsed since they had seen each other last. The Wrigley Field Stadium was their safe haven, a haven for the bond of a father and daughter. Tessa always was enraptured with the lights that illuminated the skyscrapers throughout the city of Chicago, the thoroughbred horses that pulled carriages in the streets, and especially the Water Tower in the heart of Downtown– where he proposed to his beloved Kate.

That was now the past. Chicago is a crumbled city of ash and rubble. Broken glass covers the streets, while the rain creates seeps of muddy trenches overtop. Anarchist groups taunt the areas of Chicago and LaSalle, preying on those that still reside within the streets. Money now has as good of use as wallpaper stapled to popcorn ceilings. The groups scavenge from the straggling individuals to rob them of their remaining supplies: food, water, liquor, and even the clothes off their backs. For this reason, Gabe stays within the walls of his windmill, legs propped up in his old leather recliner. He holds a bottle of old rum clinging to his left hand, with the picture of Tessa and Kate in his right. It is here he sits and allows the days of the past to haunt him, as his mind slowly decays with the torment.

He has been rationing his last box of cigarettes, his antidote to numb his mind with a quick rush of dopamine. Today has been much more troublesome, the lonesomeness creeping in and filling his thoughts. He exhales with grief and pulls open the drawer of the side table, conveniently located next to the recliner, and grabs his last pack of Marlboros. He delicately lifts the top of the cigarette casing, careful to not tear the already weathered packaging. As he reaches to grab the cigarette, suddenly clink. From his peripheral view, he sees a shiny piece of metal strike the window and force its entry into his living room, the gusts of wind blowing the picture of his Kate and Tessa out of hand.

The weather has been in unusual disarray this afternoon, with the winds howling at the spinning turbines ahead and the dim lighting flickering on and off. The clouds are growing grey and dark, slowly fading the sun out of view as it makes its daily journey towards the West as dusk approaches. He kicks in the footrest of the recliner as he departs from the chair to investigate the metal object. He bends over and holds the object in hand. Stunned, he recognizes it to not be just any ordinary piece of jewelry, but his daughter’s heart-shaped necklace.

Lightning roars and strikes the large oak tree in front of the house. The sharp crack of the wood splitting the tree down its center fills his ears as it begins to be engulfed in flames. Then, just as instantaneous as the flash of lightning, he’s struck with the thought, however farfetched, that his Tessa and Kate are still out there. “Could it be true?”, he reasons. “Did they escape the anarchists lurking throughout the city?” He gathers his thoughts.

He is going to find them. The possibility of being reunited ignites his heart once again. He has to see for himself; he has to be sure. The risks of the journey are those he is willing to take. He could not endure another day in isolation. Gabe realizes that the windmill that he once believed to be his sanctuary from the outside word has become his own living hell. The locket provides him renewed hope.

He gathers his belongings and reaches for his old military backpack that is still propped against the front door. Sergeant Delaney it states in bold. He clenches the necklace and picture of his family as he slips them into his pocket and swings his backpack over his shoulder. With haste he leaves, revolver in one hand and cigarette in the other. He stands in front of his home and admires his last working windmill. It brought him and his family a great amount of joy once ago. A tear sparkles and dances from his eye as he wipes it away and raises his cigarette to the burning oak tree. The smell of wood brings him a sense of comfort and nostalgia. He lights the cigarette, bringing it back to his lips and inhaling a long drag. “Good thing I saved that one”, he thinks.

Now off to find his family. “Where would I venture towards to find them?” An abrupt wave of intuition sweeps over his mind, making it clear to him where he must go – the Wrigley Field Stadium. If Kate and Tessa were going to be anywhere, he had hoped it would be where their fondest memories as a family all took place over the years. The memories that have been fresh in his mind ever since this nightmare began. He treads off and departs from the old windmill towards the northeast, his boots leaving imprints in the mud as the rain erases the trail behind him. He was determined to find his family. He was going to their safe haven.