The Nuclear Trader

Maybe today’s the day, I think to myself as I pack my sleeping bag. Maybe it’s the day I die and don’t have to put up with this world anymore. I’ve been wishing that for years, but even before the world went to shit, I promised my wife no matter how hard it got, I’d always keep fighting. It’s a promise most army men make to their families. Though she and my family died from the nuclear explosion, I still feel obligated to keep that promise. It’s the only thing I have to hold on to. Even their faces are gone from memory—they’re more of a feeling of hope and love, but that has begun to fade over the years.

I walk out into the cold from the car I was using as shelter. In the past, people always made it seem that a nuclear war would cause the ground to burn. My military training taught me differently. As soon as the bombs went off, I gathered winter supplies before the dirt and smoke could begin blocking the sun. Within a week, I had all the supplies I needed for my family, including the son I hadn’t seen in years and his family. I didn’t realize until I was halfway home that my state didn’t exist anymore. I turned back and began to work as a traveling trader, selling off items I fought to take to my family. That was when I began wishing I’d just die, but I had a promise to keep.

The cold stings as I dig out my stash from a hole in the snow. Once I have everything, I begin to walk through the street of parked cars. The street turns into a town which turns into another street which turns into another town. Everything is deserted. Through the endless layer of dust above, sparse sunlight filters through, but not for long. As darkness lowers on ravaged houses around me, I pick a house that looks the most forlorn. I walk right in. There’s no point in searching the house for food, but I look around for other items after I hide my belongings. Books are in demand as well as writing supplies, but I wouldn’t leave cooking utensils behind either. Customers are getting tired of eating with their hands. I rotate the handle of my hand-crank flashlight until a beam of light breaks into the darkness. I begin to make my sweep of the rooms, but as I work through a bedroom on the second floor, I hear a creak downstairs.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I place the flashlight on the bed and pull the foot-long tactical knife out of my belt. I don’t fear death, but I do fear suffering and there is much of that in this hellish world. Footsteps muffle up the stairs. I hold my position behind a door until a figure enters the room. I slam the door and hold the knife to the person’s throat.

“Don’t kill me!” a woman’s voice shrieks from a parka. “I saw the light and wanted to check it out! Please don’t kill me!”

“This house is taken,” I say as I push her away. I stand offensively in case it’s an act, but she turns around sniffling and wipes a hand across her red nose.

“Just let me get my things, and we’ll be gone,” she says quickly.

“We’ll?”

“Just me and some girl. There’s nobody else,” she stammers.

“I guess I’m just going to have to follow you downstairs to make sure?” I question. The woman nods meekly. She might be around 30, but her sniveling makes her look younger. I still don’t feel any sympathy—that died long ago.

I grab my flashlight and follow her downstairs. When we reach the kitchen, I see a smaller figure squirming in a chair.

“Stop it,” orders the woman. The figure keeps moving. “Stop it! Help me pack up my items. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” a young female voice shouts back. It’s then that I see ropes tied around her hands, binding them to the chair. The woman lunges over and smacks the girl’s head.

“Who’s she?” I question as the girl gasps.

“Some girl I found digging through my supplies a few days back. She had the option to follow me until I could sell her, or she could lose a hand,” she states. “She made the smart choice.”

“You can’t trade a girl,” I tell her.

“Have you looked around lately?” she asks as she unties the binds. I notice a dog choke collar around the girl’s neck. “There are no rules—just survival. I can get a whole two months’ worth of supplies if I sell her. Maybe more if I find the right buyer.”

“You aren’t going to sell her,” I order her. I let the knife’s edge glint in the light. The woman swallows hard but stands firm.

“Old man, chivalry’s dead, but if you give a fair price, I’ll trade her to you.“

“What do you need?” I ask.

With a gasp, the girl lunges for the door. The woman grabs a rope and pulls. The girl falls back, gasping.

“You can’t!” the girl cries.

“Quiet!” we both order. I feel disgusted, but the woman smiles like we’re new comrades. I just want to get this girl away from this bitch.

“Food and things for warmth. That little flashlight would be nice too,” she requests.

“You can have the flashlight, gloves, a sleeping bag, and enough food to last you the next month,” I respond flatly.

“No deal! I can get her for much more!” she hollers.

“Your life is added to the deal too.” I threaten. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to use this knife, but I will use it to get that girl.”

Her anger shrinks to horror. This bitch is just that—a bitch. Not a fighter like that girl apparently.

“Fine,” she declares. “Give me the stuff. She was eating through my supply of food anyways.”

I put the knife in my belt. I tell her to wait outside as I pull items out of a floorboard. I grab a pillowcase and throw in several cans of food, some MREs, cornflakes, and flour. The sleeping bag and gloves were destined for my middle daughter, but she’d be proud knowing what I’m doing. I throw those items and my flashlight with the food.

“Here,” I say as I throw the pillowcase. “Now leave, and pray I never see your face again!”

The woman picks up her loot and rushes down the street. I stand and watch well after she is out of sight. I only turn around when I hear a crash.

“What the hell?!” I say as I run through the door. Did she double back and go through a window to get the girl? I whip my knife out but put it back as soon as I take in the scene. The girl is trying to get through a window, but her parka is snagged on jagged glass. Red smudges are around the windowsill. I move to help her before she really hurts herself.

“Get away from me!” she yells. I stop immediately with my hands up.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to help you get unstuck.” I step again, but as she struggles, her hood shrugs off. I see her face. Memories of my daughters, my wife, and even my son flood back. As I gasp a breath back, she glares. How could a young face already have so much hate?

“Please,” I say softly. “You’re bleeding. I always hated to see my daughter bleed when she scraped a knee, and what you have is more than a scrape.”

“You have a daughter?” she questions.

“I had daughters. And a wife…” I pause. “And a son.”

“Oh,” she says. Her body eases.

“Is it ok if I help you?” I ask.

After a moment, she responds, “Yeah.”

I pick her up away from the glass. The cuts are minor, so I grab some hydrogen peroxide and duct tape from my pack.

“This will hurt,” I tell her as I pour the liquid on the cuts. We don’t talk again until the tape is wrapped around her leg, and I’ve made a fire in the fireplace.

“Thank you,” she says as we gaze into the flames. “I haven’t had anyone help me since my mom died.”

“When did she die?” I ask hesitantly.

“Last year,” she replies. “She went to find supplies, but on her way back, she was mugged. She had a deep cut that got infected. I tried everything, but…” Her voice breaks.

“Hey,” I speak softly. “It’s ok. I know your mom is proud of you. You’re a fighter.”

She smiles as tears fall quietly.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all this pain and destruction so young. How old are you anyway?” I ask her.

“Sixteen.”

“I think I would’ve had a granddaughter around your age, but she died with her father on the West Coast.”

“Oh, when they blew California into the ocean?” she asks quietly.

“Yep.” It’s all I can say.

“I lived there. I remember taking weekend trips to the beach. Before the bombs, my mom and I left to go on a vacation to Colorado. My dad was supposed to fly and meet us there, but it was too late.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, but I don’t know what to live for anymore. I mean, what hope is there for a girl like me?” she mutters.

“Listen,” I say firmly. “This hell we’re in, it won’t last forever. This is just a dark moment in our lives, but there will be a sunrise soon…especially for you.”

She gives a small smile. “You too.”

We sit silently for a while. She falls asleep, and I place a blanket on her. Eventually, I sit and nod off across the room.

When I wake, the fire is out. I look over and see the blanket folded on the chair where the girl was sitting. I dart up and look around. I search every room until I walk into the kitchen. My bag has been gone through and items are missing. In the chair where she was tied up, I see an envelope with writing.

Dear Sir,

I appreciate everything you did last night. Not only did you save me from that woman, but you saved me from my despair as well. I’m sorry, but I’m taking some of your supplies. However, I want to make it up to you. To pay for the supplies and my freedom, I’m giving you my most precious possession. It is something my mother gave to me before she died. It means a lot to me, and I hope it’s enough to pay you back.

Yours truly,

Charlie

Loneliness encroaches as I turn the envelope over and let the contents fall into my hand. As I gaze down on a golden heart locket, memories overwhelm me. I trace the wings that create the curves of the heart and the ruby that is encased in the middle. This locket looks like the one I gave my wife before I deployed for the first time. I pry it open and see myself 47 years ago, smiling back confidently. As I look to the other side, I grab my chest. It’s a face I haven’t seen in years. He has the same confident grin and similar uniform, but his face looks like his mother’s.

I had nothing yesterday, but now I have this token of my family. Thank you, Charlie, I think to myself, then stop. Why didn’t I see it before? I pack all my things and rush to the door. I feel like I am soaring.

I run to the street and find footprints. As I walk towards the growing sunrise, I begin to trek after my granddaughter.