Tomorrow Still Comes

Tomorrow Still Comes

(By Stanton D. Barker)

The constant smell of motor oil from the Simtex and C-4 was still thick in the humid haze of the morning air. The crackling of back alley cremations added a pungent flavor to the mix. A family of cockroaches had set up camp behind the dust-covered countertop pulled from the rubble that was once my “Forever” home. Words like forever, and tomorrow seemed to have lost their meaning as I watched the six legged opportunists scurry away under the harsh morning light.

Every day bled into the next without meaning or purpose. Most of the time the randoms would be just trying to find food, much if it contaminated. Those who’d given up didn’t care. Most would not survive their last meal into the next day. You could not get away from the smell of rotting corpses unless you went to the ocean or into the forest. I preferred the ocean. The waves would drown out the constant wailing and weeping that echoed through the streets and alleys.

The colors of New Chinatown and New Little Italy seemed muted like an old Polaroid picture of yesteryear. Happiness seemed to have just been a distraction for what was going on right in front of us for decades. I guess they were just waiting for the right time. A signal. A sign. A time to pull the trigger on their big plan. It was when they got control of the nukes that the scale tipped. So began the shortest great war. Considering the damage and death they caused, you’d have thought there were many. This was not so. Just slow, methodical, and committed to some sort of new world order.

They were the ones to watch out for. They were assigned to “finish the job”. Heavily armed and secure in their after-game bunkers. They had functional communications while everything else got fried by multiple EMPs from the nukes that continued almost every night for weeks until everything electronic, anything with a computer chip, circuit board or electrical function was cooked… useless. The patrols were largely made up of the insurrectionists, doomsday cults, religious rapture types that would creep out at night.

Sometimes we’d capture one of these IPs alive and squeeze them for information on things like their bunker locations, outposts and operations. Most would bite into their cyanide pill before we could zip tie their hands. By the time we rolled them over they’d be dead. The only value we’d get was their weapons, a small amount of ammo and a functional two-way. Couldn’t really use them as IP command would monitor every channel day and night.

Wednesday morning, day break… at least I thought it was, started with grenade blasts, automatic gunfire and screams. I’d gotten used to it, but this morning was different. I pushed the heavy black curtain aside and looked through the front window of my semi-crushed city bus, a luxury home these days. It was an IP running straight toward me. I got ready to pounce once they got to my trip wire. It worked and I jumped out, kicked off the riot helmet and pulled the black head-sock off as a long mane of dirty blonde hair spilled out on the ground. She couldn’t have been more than 30. She just looked up at me and smiled. I rolled her on her stomach with my zip tie at the ready. She did not even try to resist. While on her belly she started to convulse so I rolled her back over. She just stared at me as the foam bubbled from her lips. She just stared, looking right into my eyes, as I watched the life fade from hers turning them from bright blue to milky white.

Just another dead IP. I checked for some ID, though they rarely kept any on them. Some had number tattoos on their necks. They were usually the higher ranking ones and the numbers would grant them higher access to the IP outposts for more planning, ammo and supplies. Others were just solo actors out to support “the cause” of finishing the job. This IP was an officer. Number 8675309. I assumed her name must be Jenny.

As I mumbled the numbers to myself, I noticed she had a gold chain around her neck. She didn’t need it anymore, so I tugged it off and a gold locket shaped like a heart popped out from between her breasts. It had “LoveU4ever J&J” inscribed on the back. A tiny clasp held the front and back together. Opening it revealed two small pictures, one of her and on the other side, two young, adorable twin girls with wild blonde curls. They were dressed in black velvet dresses and scarlet ribbons around their waists. I could not hold back the tears as I began to wonder how her life, captured in the locket pictures could have ended up dying in a dirty, dusty street by her own hand. The sadness consumed me and my tears fell freely upon her rifle washing the dust away.

I heard footsteps rapidly approaching, I quickly closed and pocketed the locket, stood up and wiped away my eye leaks and spun around. “Another dead IP?” one asked. “This one just took out an entire camp under the Mianus bridge. You wanna do the honors?” I declined and they dragged her away. I knew the “honors” were far from honorable. They routinely involved some level of back street autopsy, sometimes necrophilia, sometimes cannibalism. Things you cannot un-see.

I turned around and walked the 2 miles to the seashore to let the sound of the waves wash it all away, all the while knowing tomorrow still comes…. But for that brief escape to the beach… no smell of motor oil from Simtex and C-4. No family of cockroaches climbing around. No dust-covered countertop from the rubble of what used to be my life. Just the ocean, the waves, me… and Jenny.