The Hunt

Standing in the doorway he was once again seized by the silence that encompassed the Earth since its downfall. Watching an empty road leading to Memphis, he noticed dust being lifted into the air, like steam rising from a placid lake after being heated from the morning Sun. He turned into the abandoned station to eat then gather his things before traveling north, it had been picked clean save the cash which has no use in this new world.

Time to us is a lost concept, those who survived, it really has no meaning now, only one’s survival or the lives of others mattered anymore. Walking the wastelands no one has the luxury of a concept like time. Before people were consumed with it and things that gave billions their sense of worth, adhering to their schedules, amassing gadgets of all manner to help them, or just to be connected to someone, even if on some global network.

That life no longer exists. No longer is anyone motivated by time, it was things we took for granted like food, what and where is our next meal coming from, water where to find it safe or clean enough to drink, then there’s shelter, where will you be secure for the night, these are the things that matter to people wandering this new world.

“We still have no idea what caused the downfall,” he said aloud just to break the silence, “although many of us who survived said and believe it was the Northern Lights,” looking around the room waving his finger in the air as he spoke, as if waiting for someone to agree with him, then continued, “It engulfed the entire Earth and took our technology. The Aurora Borealis lasted around our world for more than a week, but many scientists said and predicted life would return to normal,” looking from side to side as if expecting to get an answer from someone. He paused for a moment turning his head and listening, then finished, “They were all wrong, so horribly wrong! What caused the lights, was and still is, the greatest mystery that needed to be answered, but was forgotten by everyone because of the long winter.”

He sat placing a small portion of food to warm for his daily meal. It was never enough but got him through the day and down the road for tomorrow. Starting a small fire being mindful not to generate too much smoke he placed his stove atop it. Rummaging through his pack ensuring he put back things not needed for today and not to leave anything behind.

“We,” he paused, looking around for others that were now lost to him, “we, prayed that seasons would return to normal ending this endless winter, and it did. Four-years of continuous cold, foraging meager supplies barely scraping enough for us,” he stopped, “well,” sorrow consumed his face as he glanced around an empty room.

Earth was finally emerging back to its normal seasons, and those who had not died from starvation, hypothermia, or from being killed for their supplies were drifting the wastelands in search of a permanent refuge.

Day in and day out, the past four-years each the same, eating a small portion of his rations, taking inventory before packing up to set out in search of more supplies, always hoping to find someone, anyone, well someone friendly. Just for it to start all over again the next day but now spring has arrived. Getting out would be easier but also more dangerous.

But silence still covered the land missing were the sounds of traffic on busy streets and highways, jets passing overhead, and multitudes of people noisily talking, screaming, or playing loud music. “Music, I do miss you, and in some ways talking to people,” he whispered softly then sighed having not spoken to anyone. He sat eating and taking in long silence he has endured the last three years alone. He finished his meal and again insured all items were stored before donning his gear.

Exiting the gas station, he gazed at the road formerly cover with snow but now dry. Snow still draped over the fields and lower branches of trees across the countryside capping fields both sides of the road.

Sunrays cascaded through clouds illuminating leafless trees, their branches resembled scarecrow skeletons casting spooky shadows. They stood there protecting untended and forgotten fields where crops were long dead from too many seasons of frost. Days have become sunnier and warming the past few weeks, with visible signs of life returning as tracks left by fauna on snowy and mud laden fields.

“It’s good to see I am not the only living thing out here today,” thinking to himself as he pushed a wad of chains into his top jacket pockets.

Half the day passed ,when he came upon the crash site of a military plane. Its fuselage and engine areas were mostly burned away but the cockpit remained mostly intact along with the bodies of the pilots. After removing the canopy, he scavenged whatever he could, two compasses, two Swiss type pocketknives, two emergency rations that may or may not be edible and two 9mm pistols with a full magazine each.

He felt it only proper to bury the two pilots, leaving their dog tags and one small gold cross hanging on the markers he placed.

Early afternoon came before he resumed his journey and watched the Sun sinking to the West the further North he traveled. He became anxious not having a shelter picked out this time of day, especially in unexplored territory. Stopping to search ahead, “I guess I’m sleeping in an eighteen-wheeler tonight,” he said lowering his binoculars.

Climbing in the truck’s cab and making himself at home in the sleeper. It remained warm well into the night from the Sun, and for the first time in a very long time he was able to sleep without a jacket. As he did anywhere, he searched for anything that would be useful but did not find anything, he bedded down. “I’ll check the trailer in the morning,” he thought to himself drifting off to sleep.

After eating and going through his daily routines he climbed and stood atop the cab giving him a better view of the terrain ahead. Scanning back and forth he noticed tracks ahead leading West off the road and away from the city. They were too big for deer, too small for a man, but signs of life, nonetheless.

He headed up the road at a hurried pace. In his urge to see the prints he forgotten about checking the trailer. His heart raced with both excitement and fearfulness to what type of tracks they were. The closer he got, the more terrified he became thinking the worst as with past encounters, and all excitement left his thoughts.

Approaching the vehicle where footprints began. “I was right,” he whispered examining the tracks leading off into the distance, “West as I thought, human, not big enough for a man!” He looked to see who was making the tracks or if he could even see them, but no such luck. Stepping in the same footprints he started following the person.

A day and a half would go by before he saw a small figure slowly making its way up the hillside. “Appears to be a young adult, or a small woman, or could even be a man, a small man if it is! Anyways too far to know,” he said pulling the binoculars away from his face.

“If I track them as late as I can, I should catch up to them sometime in the morning,” he thought to himself as he continued walking in the tracks. Snow was not deep, but it was just deep enough to leave good tracks, and although the days were warming, night temperatures were too low to be out in the open. Midway up the hill he bedded down for the night against a cluster of rocks resembling a mantle. It was a dry place that kept the damp evening air off him.

Waking early, he did not bother eating and had nothing to repack. Rushing to the top he lost the tracks leading to a cement reservoir. Scanning both sides of the embankment looking to see if the person had fallen, ”Good,” he said with both an air of disappointment and hopefulness in his voice. As He reached the other side of the structure an arrow landed on the ground at his feet.

“Why are you following me,” a young but confident girl’s voice rang out from the tree line.

“I saw your tracks off the road a way back,” he answered raising his hands.

“That’s how, Mister, not why,” she barked as another arrow hit closer to his feet.

“It’s been three years since I have talked to someone, I was hoping you needed company as much as I did,” saying as he eased back some. “I mean you no harm,” stating as he lowered his hands.

“Hands up, mister, keep them where I can see them” she commanded as another arrow hit the ground even closer this time.

“Okay, okay, my name is Silas, and I am the last of my party,” saying with a hint of panic in his voice and raising his hands again. “What is your name, miss,” he asked.

“No, no, Silas, we’re not there yet. Why are you headed to Memphis,” she asked?

“Not going to Memphis,” he answered as he slowly reached across his chest to the left pocket, “I am getting something,” and opened his fingers on both hands letting her know he was not reaching for a weapon.

“Then where are you going,” asking as she let another arrow fly.

“Southaven, I’m going to Southaven,” answering abruptly as he pulled the bundle of chains out of his pocket.

She watched as chains unfolded from his hand, as the charms bounced and clinked at their ends. Her eyes fixated as they dangled from his hand, slightly swaying back and forth, like a metronome keeping time. She walked out the tree line headed to the levee. Her bow by her side.

“Southaven you say,” stating as she walked towards him.

“Are we friends now,” Silas smiled as he asked, he started lowering his hands.

“What’s with the charms,” she asked as she continued walking.

“They’re my families, we were all headed there,” he said, still lowering his hands.

“Everyone needs a charm to enter the refuge,” telling her as he pulled another chain tucked from underneath his shirt and around his neck. He watched as she glanced down to step over a log. Lifting his jacket, he drew a pistol and raised it to aim.

As she reached the levee, a shot rang out from the tree line behind her, her eyes glanced up towards him as his arms fell limp by his side.

She saw he still clutched the chains as he dropped the pistol from his hand and his body fell backwards. Looking down at him as he lay dying, “Oh yes, you do need one to get in, but only if you’re a woman,” she knelt beside him. “They are called Haven Lockets. My name is Ezra and there is a refuge in Southaven, where a locket will grant you entry.” Grabbing the chains from his hand she held them up so he could see, “these heart shaped lockets, belong to my fallen sisters, none of them, not one was ever given to a man. And we have been looking for you for a very long time.”

He looked at her as she knelt next to him hearing the faint whisper of his last breath, “I’m not the only…,” was all he uttered as a smirk faded from his lips.

Ezra gasped, feeling defeated by his last words. Looking up at her sisters with concern, “There was more than one, there’s more!”