The Rinse by Nicholas Woods

The Rinse by Nicholas Woods

The First Day Of The End Of The World

I often wondered, why me?
Why do we exist when we do?
Our time on this one Earth, chosen at random.
Why me?
Why now.
At the end.

            Footsteps crashed through leaves and a desperate hand grasped nearby bark so roughly she was sure she’d stripped skin free. A sound crackled like a whip, not behind her, but above her, so loud that the woman sucked one single breath into her lungs before continuing her sprint.

            Michelle Parker rounded a corner, head glancing back for only a second, as if she was being chased, before crashing right into something.

            She didn’t even scream before the thing she barreled into was grabbing her.

            “Where have you been?” James Parker glanced behind her, wild fear in his eyes.

            “Is it happening?”

            “Come on, we have to hurry.” James pulled her through the remainder of a forest before the trees gave way to a clearing, a cabin seen in the distance.

            Something cracked in the sky again, sending James and Michelle to the ground, an invisible wave of energy knocking them off their feet. Michelle recovered, the cabin’s front door mere feet away, but she needed to see it. Needed to look at the sky one more time.

            High above the horizon spread a gaseous ripple, no larger than a full moon in harvest season. Its deep red color gave it the appearance of an angry eye, with amber and emerald haze swirling behind it.

            Michelle felt James pull her into the house, and for a moment she was grateful, because if he hadn’t she might have never peeled her eyes away from that awful sight.

            They moved across the living room, passing a small electronic device left on the kitchen table— a Geiger counter, its radiation detection meter sitting in the green. But if one looked closely, they could see the needle ticking, slowly at first, but gaining a pulse that beat toward the red.

            At the end of the hallway sat a lone, metal door, a massive painting of an English Airedale Terrier leaning against the wall off to the side.

            Michelle raced down the steps into a basement, watching her footing, passing by Phil Parker, twice her age in his early sixties who sealed the metal door shut. Her instincts pulled her eyes to the walls lined with food and water, before moving back toward James’ father, who sat down at a computer system and a radio microphone.

            A news broadcaster’s voice was heard over the stereo. “Everyone is being told to seek shelter. Concrete or metal structures.”

            Michelle looked at James. “Are we safe in here?”

            But Phil was the one to answer her, turning in his chair. “This room was built to survive beyond a blast range of 100 kilometers.”

            James, usually so strong, so carefree and sure of himself, choked on his rushed words. “From a bomb, or a nuke, but…”

            “That’s not what this is.” Michelle tried to keep her voice level. If she could find steadiness in her words, perhaps the rest of her body would follow suit.

            Phil nodded, attempting comfort. “I know darling. But we’re safe down here. We just have to… hang tight.”

            James exhaled. “But for how long?”

            Michelle’s eyes drifted back to the food and water.

We made it three hundred and eighty-eight days.

            The door to the cellar creaked open, the metal hinges tight from disuse. Michelle walked through the dusty, empty house, her eyes going to the Geiger counter on the table. She replaced the batteries, the meter showing what she already knew. Green. Safe.

            The next several days flowed like a strange dream, a detached sort of waking up after a long disorienting nap. She tried not to dwell on the fact that most of the world, God only knew the numbers, was gone.

            Phil tried to repair his garden, the vegetables and herbs there long dead. James made repairs around the house, and Michelle helped where she could, all the while avoiding looking at the Ripple which appeared even brighter and deeper in color than it had before.

            Then, the sun would grow white and hot and angry. They would have to run inside the basement, again, and again. When the radiation levels cooled, they would emerge, and attempt to rebuild.

Again, and again.

            The reasons that had led Phil to prepare for an off-chance inevitability, that had become a reality, were never dissected. Michelle was, in the end, just grateful that the man had whatever godly foresight or fear or paranoia that made him prepare. The cabin had a well they could pump for water, and James could hunt in the forest for meat. The white solar flares that penetrated the earth seemed to be slowing, giving them more time in between to rebuild.

            Michelle thought the tension in her chest may finally release. She didn’t have any family of her own, there was no one to mourn except for her friends and those at work that she cared about and tried her best not to think of them. They were gone, and perhaps, no, for sure, they were the lucky ones. Uncertainty brings its own kind of terror. And she thought she at least was starting to understand the nightmare she was in.

            Then, one day, she woke up shooting from her bed, racing for a toilet, heaving the night’s meager rations from her stomach into the bowl. A cup of water, three minutes to relieve herself onto a plastic stick, and two pink lines were all it took.

The thought of starving didn’t scare me.
Or radiation poisoning.
Or the sun’s white fury melting the skin from my bones.
Nothing, compared to this.

Seven Years Into The End Of The World

What do you tell a child about the world ending?
Tell me, I’d love to know.

            “Just a little further!” The boy didn’t petulantly beg.

There was sincerity and maturity in his request. Perhaps, that’s what made it so hard to refuse. The week before, he wanted to see the lightning struck pine-tree, a mile away from the cabin. Before that, he asked to see the wooden woodpecker house, a half mile away. Since he had turned six, each week he wanted to venture further and further. He was asking more questions. Questions Michelle didn’t have the answers to.

            “No, Joseph. We need to get back. It’s going to get dark soon.” Michelle took the boy by the hand. They made their way through the forest, back toward the cabin. “Grandpa will be up soon; he’ll want to read with you.”

            In the last few years, Phil had grown accustomed to sleeping during the day so that he could keep watch at night. They had only one incident with a Roamer in the past few months, but those types were desperate, dangerous, and Phil claimed to feel more content keeping watch while the parents kept a normal schedule with their son.

            Michelle looked down at Joseph. Her son seemed so full of curiosity, so seemingly knowing, but of what reality Michelle couldn’t guess. All she wanted in the entire painful universe was to show her son a beautiful world, before he learned about the one they were truly in.

            “Wanna race back to the cabin?” Michelle found a smile she had learned to wear, a convincing excited façade that displayed anything other than what she truly felt inside.

            With a nod, Joseph ran to the cabin, Michelle on his ever-quickening heels. The moment he reached the door, she grabbed him. “I got you!”

A fits of giggles took him before he slipped from her grip and moved inside.

            The cabin’s interior no longer appeared as it once did. Colorful sheets were torn to stream from ceiling to banister, hand-crafted paintings and beautiful pieces of artwork torn from books and magazines now lined the walls. Her goal was a kindergartener’s classroom on steroids, and Michelle thought she hit the mark well.

            “Where’s Dad?” Joseph asked, looking around.

            “He must still be at work.”

            At work. James’ day-job consisted of foraging for supplies, avoiding exiles, bandits, and Roamers. Working with other survivors on the mountain to trade goods for their water supply. While others had various items to offer, their cabin had one of the few wells that was dug deep enough to avoid radiation when solar flares struck.

            When those unfortunate days would come, Michelle would make a game out of it, getting Joseph downstairs with the rest of the family in a manner that not only didn’t frighten him, but made him happy and excited. It was all she could do.

            Joseph moved up to Michelle. “There’s a picture in your room, of Dad and Grandpa, when Dad was little. Where were they?”

Michelle’s heart froze in her chest. She knew the photo. Were they in Chicago? She was pretty sure.

            “I want to go there,” Joseph said, and Michelle realized she hadn’t responded. She took a deep breath and kissed her son’s head.

            “One day, we will.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe they would, somehow. For seven years, she hadn’t so much as gone down the mountain. James barely went past Auberry, the small town at the foot of the pass, unless scavenging was incredibly desperate. It was just too much of a risk to go much further.

            That evening, James returned home, washing himself outside before moving into the house, a dark expression on his face he tried to cover up. He wasn’t as good at pretending as Michelle was. That was okay. He had his job; she had hers.

            Earlier that day, James had mentioned that he thought it was time Joseph learned to use a rifle. The boy was getting bigger. Michelle had found James in the bedroom before he went out for the day.

            “Look, I thought about what you asked the other day, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Michelle saw the frustration in his eyes but remained strong. “No guns. It’s too early.”

            James took a breath. He’d never yelled at Michelle, ever lost his temper, though if he had she probably wouldn’t have blamed him. The things he had to do, the things he did on a regular basis for the family, were enough for anyone to need twenty-four-hour therapy. But James had no one. Except for her. But he was soft with her, even when he was in a tough place, and if his mood was especially dark, he would take time to himself until he was better.

            His eyes found hers, steady. “He needs to learn some simple skills. Self-defense.”

            Michelle fought the urge to snort. The idea was almost comical. “At his size, who is he going to be defending himself against? That’s our job.”

            “He’s big enough to pull a trigger.” James went quiet, guessing the words would rock Michelle. And they did. He continued. “And when was the last time you practiced your shooting?”

            It had been a while, she had to admit, but stayed focused on the part that mattered most to her. “He’s just a boy.”

            “He’s getting older, baby. Asking more questions. We’re going to have to tell him something about the world.”

            In her heart, she knew he was right. Speaking to a child about the normal world would have been difficult. What does someone tell a six-year-old about disease, suicide, and murder? But now, with the world the way it was, it seemed an impossible task. One wrong word, or rather, one truthful one, could rip the veil of childhood from his eyes and replace it with a lens she never wanted him to see through. But perhaps, it was inevitable.

            That night, she looked over at Joseph, who sat at the dinner table next to a quiet James while she stirred soup on a portable gas heater. Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, and Phil entered the room.

            “Was that you I heard running around earlier?” Phil directed a mock-stern look at Joseph who only stifled a grin.

            “Sorry, Dad.” James wiped at his face, clearly exhausted, but knew sleep was far from near.

            “Don’t be.” Phil settled into the table. “I like the noise. Funny. Your Mom and I bought this place, well, to get away from the city. Get some peace. Three months in we looked at each other like we were crazy.”

            Michelle turned to look at James, both sharing the same thought thank god you did.

            Later, Phil read to Joseph from Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White. Michelle listened while she cleaned, one section resonating deep within her.

            “‘Fern says the animals talk to each other. Dr Dorian, do you believe animals talk? I never heard one say anything,” he replied. ‘But that proves nothing. It is quite possible that an animal has spoken to me… And that I didn’t catch the remark because I wasn’t paying attention. Children pay better attention than grown-ups.’”

            Michelle looked at Joseph, his brown eyes staring back at her.

            After reading, she tucked him into bed, kissing his forehead.

            “Are you going to sleep?” Joseph asked, that curious tone in his voice searching for more.

            “No, we are going to be up a while.” Michelle stood, moving to the door.

            “Doing what?”

            Michelle stood by the door before closing it. “Grown up things. Get some sleep.”

            She took one last look at the boy who settled into his blankets.

            Michelle moved downstairs, and out of the house, into the exterior garage where she knew James and Phil would be waiting.

            The garage functioned nothing like it once had. It was now the base of operations of everything they had to do to survive. Weapons lined the walls, cleaning supplies for the guns neatly stored as well as ammunition that Phil had stockpiled.

            Michelle entered the room to find James at the center table, cleaning a pistol, while Phil moved in the background, a long-range radio held to his ear. “Three gallons for how many carrots? No fucking way Rich… Yeah, yeah, okay now you’re talking. And some sweet potatoes.”

            James stepped toward Michelle, his anticipated eyes making her nervous. “What’s going on?”

            “There’s something you need to hear.” James motioned her over to the radio controls.   Michelle watched as he dialed into a nearby keypad.  

            A voice sounded over the speaker. “Thank you for calling the Co-Op information channel. Please enter your designated pass-key to receive the latest local information.” James typed in their family’s designated code.

            Michelle’s eyes went to a sticky note above the keypad that read: 6, 7, 8 months since last big one.

            Once the passkey was accepted, the neutral voice spoke again. “Thank you INDEPENDENT HOUSE,  PARKER FAMILY, ST. PAUL’S MOUNTAIN. Here is the local forecast. Radiation activity in your area is clear. There have been increased reports of criminal activity and Roamers gathering in the southern towns of Prather and Auberry.”

            James scribbled on the notepad: Roamers gathering?

            The voice continued its log, “80% chance of solar flare expected October 30^th.

            James’ hand found paper once more: Storm in three days?

            Michelle felt her throat go tight. Three days. They were prepared to go down at any minute, but the thought of going into that cellar was difficult to accept. Solar Flare radiation was different than other forms of disastrous radiation. The cosmic rays and radiation emitted from the sun during a Solar Flare storm would be devastating while it was active, but the moment the sun settled and the ejection was over, the radiation would clear up quickly, unlike the effects of a bomb or nuclear power plant meltdown. But while the storm was hot and white, they would need to be locked downstairs for as long as it lasted.

Michelle sat down at the chair, her thoughts racing, her eyes moving along the notes and taped information around the equipment.

            Her eyes found a map of St. Paul’s mountain. On the west side stood the Parker Cabin. Four names were written in various other spots around the mountain, noting the other independent families, each whom had some sort of shelter to protect against solar fares. Whether they were as updated as the one in Phil’s cellar, none of them knew, as this was not information freely given on the rare chance the independent survivors got to chatting.

            On the far side of the mountain was a drawing of a collection of buildings with the word CO-OP, 58 members, written below. Below the mountain were names of other cities and their population changes San Jose: 971,233, 459. Fresno: 545,277, 240. And so on. Michelle found it difficult, still, to comprehend such devastation. 

            Michelle turned to James. “Roamers are gathering? They never come up the mountain.” There was little for the Co-Op exiles to forage, and Co-Op rangers would shoot any of them on sight if they were seen. At the start of the Co-Op’s formation, they had set out rules. Many similar to the laws society previously held. Punishment for the simplest infraction was banishment from their shelters, their food supply, and most importantly—their equipment that detected solar flares.

            “Only one reason to gather in mass. They must have caught wind of the storm coming. I think they’re finally going to try.” James didn’t hold a trace of worry in his voice.

Michelle guessed James believed the Co-Op could hold their own if the Roamers made an attempt to take the radiation shelters they had. She squeezed her hands together attempting to stop their trembling.

            James turned to his dad, whose voice grew tense.

            “How long has it been since anyone’s heard from them?” Phil nodded gravely, eventually ending the transmission. He looked at Michelle and James. “It’s confirmed. A storm’s coming, people are preparing. But no one had heard from Ali Elrod, or her family, in a week.”

            James moved around the center table, adjusting a map, looking at the Elrod’s southern position on the mountain. Their cabin sits at the lowest elevation. The first to be reached if Roamers came up the pass. “The Co-Op usually looks into these matters. Are they going to check on them?”

            Phil frowned. “They’ve been contacted, but no straight answer has been given. Someone needs to check in on them though.”

            The rest of the night was spent preparing. It was decided in the morning, James would go take a look at the Elrod house and see what he could find while Phil and Michelle prepared supplies for the storm.

            Michelle moved into bed that night, an uneasiness in her entire being. She was scared, but she had learned over the years to live with terror. She could hold it around her, let it sit at the gravitational edge of her being, and not let it fully in. Eventually, James came in and joined her. They had few moments alone with one another, quiet in the feigned peace that night presented. She reached for him, and he took her hand. His touch was warm, but his grip was tenuous. Slack. All she wanted was for him to grab her and hold onto her. To squeeze her so hard that she felt something. Pain. Safety. But he could not read her mind. So, instead, she turned to him, wrapping her arms around him. She held him fiercely, letting him know with ever taught muscle and fiber of her being, that she hadn’t given up. Not yet. Not ever.

            When she slept, her courage left her and the doorway to her fears were flung wide open. How cruel for dreams to bring her such awful terror. Dreams were supposed to bring what day and life could not. A hand shook her, a life line out of her fitful nightmares. 

            “Michelle!”

            She jolted awake, dawn’s sunlight embracing her before she opened her eyes to see James.

            “Bad dream?” James was dressed, leaning over her.

            “Just one of the usual ones.” Michelle tried to find a smile, but embarrassment couldn’t overwhelm the fear that still held her.

            It took an hour for her head to clear. James left shortly after her rising, headed for the Elrod’s cabin to see why they had not been in communication with anyone.

            Michelle sat at the kitchen table; Joseph close to her. “Will you play with me?”

            She looked at her son a long time, a smile on her face, counting on his innocence to hide her poorly worn mask. It would be a hard day, but they’ve had plenty hard ones.

            Later, in the early afternoon, Phil rose to teach Joseph a few agreed upon lessons. They would hold off teaching him how to hunt until his next birthday, but in the meantime, he could learn the aspects of the weapon and the fundamentals of how to safely operate one. Michelle wished he didn’t have to ever learn how to use a gun, but she knew some things were out of her control. What was in her control, was how he viewed the world.

            So, after lessons with grandpa there were lessons with Mom. She read to him, showed him paintings, listened to music, and read him poetry. A beautiful world. Or at least, the remnants of one.

            Then the sun set, and James hadn’t come home. Michelle waited by the window, trying to keep her nerves below the surface. Phil busied himself by preparing the cellar, storing water, checking their dried and canned food supplies, doing calculations. There wasn’t more information on how large the storm would be. Perhaps the Co-Op didn’t know. What remained of the scientific community worked within their boundaries, but Michelle was sure they kept some information to themselves.

            “Dad’s home!” Joseph moved to the front window, truck headlights shining on his face.

            Michelle raced to the front door, opening it. She stood on the porch and could see Phil’s truck. But it didn’t drive into the property. Why wasn’t he coming in?

            Phil appeared next to her, a radio in his hand.

            “James, come in.” Phil clicked the radio and the silence that followed seemed to last an hour. But after a moment, they heard James’ voice.

            “I’m here.”

            “Why aren’t you coming in.” Michelle now held the radio.

            “You need to put Joseph in the cellar and lock it.”

            Michelle and Phil exchanged a look of deep wariness, unsure of the why but knew the request would not have come if it weren’t something serious. Something bad.

            The cellar no longer looked like the emergency shelter for three. The space wasn’t terribly large, although it did have a small closed off bathroom, and a divider for a single bed. But Michelle had done her work on it, making the place colorful and friendly. In the center of the room was a two-person tent. Michelle led Joseph to it.

            “I need you to stay here, and not move. Can you do that for me?”

            The boy’s face crinkled. “Why?”

            “Because, something… happened to Dad at work, and I need to help him.”

            “I can help.” His voice was earnest.

            “I know you can. But right now, you can help me, by staying in here. Can you please do that for me?” Michelle tried to put authority into her words, but she didn’t want to risk him breaking down, crying. He came first, no matter what.

            But to her relief, he nodded. “I can do that mommy.”

            Michelle left the little boy. She didn’t lock the metal door, but she closed it almost all the way. Then, she moved outside to the truck.

            Phil was next to the back door looking at something, James standing, back turned. When Michelle approached, he turned around, her eyes horrified at what she saw.

            He was covered in blood. She raced to him, worriedly checking every part of him.

            “Don’t worry, it’s not mine.” James gave her hand a comforting squeeze, sticky dark left on her wrist from the gesture. She didn’t care.

             “Help me get her into the garage,” Phil said and James moved to him. Out of the back seat, they lifted a young girl, unconscious, blood leaking in heavy pools from her side. Michelle figured the poor thing couldn’t be more than seventeen. What had happened to her?

            Inside the garage, they laid the girl out onto the center table. Together, they lifted the side of her shirt and found her wound. A large tear through her side, but nothing vital seemed struck. She had lost a lot of blood, but if they could bandage it, she would perhaps live.

            “Who is she?” Michelle asked as she wiped blood from around the gash.

            “Co-Op,” James answered. “She was… there when I arrived, tied to a chair. The Elrods…” He looked at his father, knowing the words that were to come would hurt him. “The whole family was left in an open grave in the backyard.”

            Phil’s face went dark. “Roamers?”

            James nodded. “I crept up to the house. Was going to leave, but I saw her. Her truck was outside, you know the white trucks they all drive.”

            Co-Op ranger’s vehicles were all decaled with the same phrase CO-OP: KNOWLEDGE AND PROTECTION. AT THE END. They were said to be impervious to solar flare radiation. Some Co-Ops had special garage entrances where their people could enter and exit in the middle of a storm.

            James eyed Michelle. “I listened for as long as I could. There is a group of Roamers, all gathered, all working together to take the St. Paul’s Mountain Co-Op and its shelter. But some are splitting off. Taking houses with shelters, like the Elrods.”

            Michelle’s heart started to hammer. “Do they know about us?”

            “I don’t know.” James’ breathing never seemed to settle. “We should assume they do. And that in the next day or two, before the storm, they’ll come try and take this house.”

            Everyone went quiet. Less than an hour of work and the girl’s wound was clean and sewn. They didn’t ask James what happened next, though Michelle could imagine. If he was here, with the girl, then he had killed the Roamers in the Elrod house. She didn’t feel sorry for them. They were murderers. They’d killed an old woman, her children, and grandchildren. They deserved what they got.

            Michelle moved outside with James, near the well, and helped clean the blood from him. They didn’t speak a word the entire time, just moving in step, filling clean buckets, dumping murky red ones. Ringing red liquid from rags and starting again. It took over an hour, this marital ritual of theirs.

            When he was cleaned, she found his eyes in the moonlight. He looked into hers, but there was a hollowness to him. She knew they exchanged the same feelings, the same unspoken words of the unfairness of the world. The difficulty of their situation and how maybe, perhaps, it would be better to just have died with the rest of the world.

            They stared at each other a long time, no words passing, for there were none that could comfort one another or speak what the other didn’t already know. That this was their life. That all they could do was keep moving, keep surviving, and pray that throughout, they could find moments of peace and joy.

            James turned to her. “Is Joseph inside?”

            “Yes,” Michelle responded, her heart clenching. “He should be in bed.”

            “Good.” James looked down, as if his shame was a weight drawing them to the ground. “I don’t want him to see me. Until I… I just… can’t see him right now.”

            He meant he couldn’t pretend. Michelle understood. For the night, he had been strong enough. There was only so much a person could take.

            Michelle found his hand in the dark and led James to the house. They moved inside where it was blessedly quiet. Michelle wanted time to take care of James, but those hopes were dashed as someone appeared at the stairwell.

            “Joseph, I need you to go back to your bed,” Michelle instructed, but to her great surprise, the boy raced down the stairs and threw his arms around James’ legs. Michelle glanced at James, who was stunned, but seemed to take a deep breath, trying. God help him, he was trying. Phil entered the back door and Michelle saw him take in the scene, quietly, not moving.  

            Michelle and Phil watched as James looked at Joseph with that same hollow stare he gave her. Then, he hugged his son fiercely and did something that completely shocked her. James began to weep. Joseph’s eyes went wide, shooting to Michelle with confusion, worry, and a sheer lack of knowing what to do. It broke her heart in a thousand pieces as the boy lifted a hand and patted his Dad’s head. 

            “It’s okay, Daddy. You’re home now.”

            James seemed to give a final shudder before gulping down his emotional release, pushing it down, and standing. Without a word to anyone, he moved Joseph aside and headed up the stairs.

            Michelle looked at Phil. The man gave her a small nod that said “this is normal”. Phil had served in the military, seen battle. Partially why he was so adept at survival and weaponry. So, he knew what his son was experiencing. The erratic toll it took. That was why the next day was so difficult.

            “I told you to stay inside”

            Michelle raced outside toward the shouting. It was James, gripping Joseph by the shoulders.

            “I’m sorry,” the little boy squeaked. “I just wanted to see the girl.”

            Michelle had told Joseph about their new ‘houseguest’ who was resting in the garage. That was her mistake. But she had never seen James like this.

            “What’s going on?” Michelle said moving between them.

            James turned away from her, picking up the rifle he had tossed to the ground.

            “I told Joseph to stay inside today. It’s too dangerous, it’s too…” He was about to start screaming again, she could see it in the veins of his neck. She held up a firm hand.

            “James. I’ll talk to him.” He looked like he was about to say something else, anger still coursing through him. “James,” she said again, gentle but firm.

            James took a deep breath, shame starting to douse the fires inside of him. “It’s too dangerous.”

            Michelle nodded to him, and grabbed Joseph by the hand, taking him inside. She sat the boy at the kitchen table. He looked utterly stricken, face red, eyes cast down. She felt bad for him, despite that fact that he did disobey them.

            Then, Michelle’s mind painfully went to James. Often, a new great fear would bubble up inside of her. What if she were killed? What if it were just Joseph and James? James surely couldn’t keep up this act, pretending with the boy that the world is an albeit odd but safe place. As much as it pained her to think this of her husband, with terrible sadness, she knew it to be the truth.

He couldn’t pretend.

            “I just wanted to see her.”

            Michelle’s attention snapped to Joseph. She knew she shouldn’t have mentioned the young girl in the garage. She was awake, still sore and weak from her injury. Michelle knew she was probably hungry.

            “Stay here.” Michelle said to Joseph. “I’m going to see if our guest wants to join us for lunch.”

            It turned out, the young girl was very hungry. Ten minutes later she was sitting at the kitchen table across from Joseph, canned peaches and soup before both of them. She ate the fruit like it was best thing to touch her lips in years. Perhaps it was. Who knew what the Co-Op fed its people. Partially why the family never wanted to join. Everything that one ate, drank, and did was determined by them.

            Joseph starred at the Co-Op girl in fascination. She was the closest person in age to anyone he’d ever met. “Are there other kids, where you live, like me?”

            Michelle felt her heart ache at that. There was only so much she could give him, this she knew. The girl shot a glance at Michelle, but Michelle had told her the rules about what she could and could not tell Joseph.

            “Yes, a few,” she answered.

            Joseph’s eyes went wide. “What’s your name?”

            “Abby. After my mom.”

            “Where’s your mom?”

            Abby’s eyes went soft, then glanced at Michelle for help, having been put in a tough corner.

            “Let Abby eat her lunch.” Michelle took a bite of her own food, although her appetite hadn’t been great the past few days, but she knew she needed her strength.

            “Can I show Abby the basement?” Joseph asked Michelle.

            “Not right now.” Michelle exhaled, frustrated with herself more than anything. They shouldn’t be revealing the details of their shelter to anyone. 

            Joseph turned back to Abby. “We hide in there when the sky goes white.”

            Abby wiped her mouth, then looked around the house nodding. Michelle pursed her lips but kept her face even as she could. An act for two.

            Joseph set down his spoon and pushed one of the drawings around him toward Abby. It was of the Ripple, but bright green. “I know the Ripple is red, but I ran out of red crayons.”

            Abby looked at the picture, tilting her head seeming slightly impressed. Then, her eyes moved curiously to Joseph. “Do you know what the… Ripple… is?”

            Joseph shook his head.

Abby sat back. “The Ripple, it used to be a star. A sun, like the one in our sky that sometimes turns white.” Joseph listened intently. “When stars get old, just like people, they die. But when stars die, they explode. The Ripple was very close to us… so close it…”   Abby’s words trailed off before she found the right ones. “It’s not the first time it’s happened on Earth. Scientists say it’s happened several times over the last hundred thousand years. And that trees, inside their bark, keep records of these supernova events.”

            The last Michelle found intriguing, although the first part had been known to her. In a flash, the ozone layer was burned away. Now, without the Earth’s protection, solar flares were able to penetrate the surface, over and over again.

            “But that’s all going to end,” Abby said casually, picking up her spoon to another mouthful of canned peaches.

            Michelle narrowed her eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

            Abby shrugged. “The Rinse. It’s ending. Didn’t you know?”

            To Joseph’s extreme discontent, Michelle placed him back inside his tent in the cellar, quickly whirling back on Abby who shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her wound obviously causing her discomfort.

            “What do you mean, the Rinse is ending?” Michelle demanded.  

            “They didn’t tell you? The Co-Op?” Abby seemed genuinely confused.

            “No, they didn’t. They just said another storm is coming.”

            Abby shook her head, perhaps frustrated by the institution she served. “Yeah, a big one. Should last a month. But… the ozone layer. It’s built itself back up. This storm… it should be the last.”

            Michelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Could it be true? She feared to hope. “Can you prove it?”

            “No, not here. But I know, for certain, that’s what all the Co-Ops have been relaying to one another. Been preparing. Maybe that’s why they kept independents out of the details. They want to be the first to claim whatever they want in the new world.”

            The new world. Michelle’s heart began to race, for the first time with purpose, not terrible fear and dread. She grabbed a walkie and called Phil and James back home. They arrived and Michelle took one of their rifles to guard the exterior while Abby told them what she just revealed to Michelle.

            Michelle moved along the perimeter, eyes scanning the through the trees, her mind on the future and what possibilities were to come. She never once considered this a potential reality. No more hiding, no more fear of nature trying to wash them off the planet. Sure, there would be trials ahead, a new world to build, but that would be a beautiful pursuit. Something she would relish to share with her son, and not the black hole of inescapable terror that had been their life for nearly a decade.

            For the first time, in a long time, a genuine smile touched her lips.

            She doesn’t even hear the person step up behind her until a hand clasped over her mouth.

            Michelle kicked out, but someone else, a woman punched her in the stomach. Michelle doubled over, the rifle in her hand pulled from her grip. Michelle looked to see a man towering over her. A Roamer, by the look of his scars. His long black hair hung in strands down to his shoulders, two bright blue eyes behind dark stringy shadows. Next to him was a woman, dirty auburn hair, and a bald, skinny man. All held the same burns that came only from radiation exposure.

            The blue-eyed man knelt down to her. “Scream, and I’ll kill you. You got one chance, to save yourself, and that little boy in there. Tell me. Are the others armed?”

            Michelle’s mind raced. These people meant to take the house. Were they giving her a choice? To keep her and Joseph alive?

            The bald man coughed a sickly sound. He might be contaminated on the inside, his body scoured with radiation cancer. He didn’t have long. Maybe months.  

            Michelle nodded. Knowing James and Phil were armed might keep them from attacking. At least, that’s what she hoped. When the three produce guns of their own, eyes on the house, she realized she was wrong.

            The red head revealed ropes and tied Michelle to a nearby tree. Off in the distance, through the woods, Michelle could see a white truck with decaled letters on the side. They must have stolen it off some Co-Op rangers. Michelle turned to her captors.

            “Please. Please, don’t hurt them. We can give you food. Water.”

            The Roamer woman looked at Michelle without an ounce of pity as she placed a gag in her mouth. “Not your food or water we want. Plenty of that in our truck. It’s your shelter. Storms coming.”

            “Let’s do this.” The blue-eyed Roamer gripped his gun, and the others followed him. Michelle had to watch as they advanced on her house, her family. Michelle tried to scream past the cloth in her mouth, but the words were caught in the fabric. She yanked at her hands, pulled at her bindings, her flesh tearing, sticky liquid now coating the rope. But she couldn’t break loose.

            Michelle looked through the trees and saw something terrible, yet it brought her great relief. A gunshot rang through the air, the bald roamer outside the eastern section of the house going down, a bullet hitting him right in the belly.

            Good. James and Phil were aware of what was coming for them. Her relief was short lived, as more gunshots pierced the air.

            Michelle yanked at her bindings, pulling the rope tight against the bark. In smooth motions, she moved chord up and down, up and down. She moved fast, starting to feel the barest ease in the tension binding her. The only thing that stopped her was the erratic succession of bullets. It wasn’t a standoff with unlimited ammo. No. These shots came in carefully, as if each bullet fired had a chance to take someone she loved.

            She could only imagine what Joseph was thinking right then. She prayed he was still in the cellar. Prayed he wasn’t scared.

            Just when she thought her bindings might be loose enough to get a hand through, Michelle heard something that made her soul slip from her body. Not a bullet. No. This sound was like a whip cracking through the air.

            Michelle looked up to see the sky, its familiar blue now turning a terrifying white.

            The storm was early.

            Michelle could hear calls from the distance as the blue-eyed roamer shouted to the red head. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. It didn’t matter. She probably had five minutes tops before radiation would fill the air.

            Her bloody wrist slipped through one of the bindings. She ripped the gag from her mouth then uncoiled her other hand. Then she sat back on the ground yanking at the knot around her legs.

            There was one last gunshot, and Michelle heard the yell of someone screaming ring through the air. It didn’t sound like James, but it was hard to tell. She couldn’t think, couldn’t imagine all the terrible possibilities that were out there. She just had to get free.

            The knot finally gave a sliver of purchase, and she was able to push the rest of the rope away. She jumped to her feet, turning around, ready to spring home when the barrel of a gun pointed right at her face.

            It was the blue-eyed Roamer. He held his side which dripped with blood, a pistol pointed at Michelle. “In the truck, now.”

            “Please, just…”

The man silenced the rest of her words with a sharp jab of the metal into her side. Michelle didn’t know what to do. She moved toward the Co-Op truck, her eyes looking up through the trees to see the sky a deep pulsing white. Mere minutes were left.

            They moved to the truck. Michelle, hands up in the air, looked over her shoulder to see the man trying to reach into his pocket for the truck keys, all the while keeping his pistol aimed at Michelle’s back.

            He fumbled for them, his finger’s slick with his own blood, dropping them into the dirt. He cursed, reached to get them. Michelle saw his gun hand waver, just for a second, just enough for it to move its direction away from her.

            It was the image of her family that was in her mind, when she turned and kicked the Roamer square in the jaw. He fired a bullet that made her shudder, but it bounced off the impenetrable truck’s glass before he tumbled over. Michelle made her move, reaching for the car keys, unlocking the truck, and jumping inside.

            She closed the door just as bullets flashed against the glass. She jolted, terrified. But the glass held. The blue-eyed Roamer screamed bloody murder outside the truck. He pulled on the door handle, but thankfully, it didn’t budge. He stepped back and pointed his pistol at her.

            Michelle yelled, bracing herself. But the bullets just bounced right off. She looked to the corner of the truck. There was a dial adjacent to the speedometer, a meter she knew quite well. Its needle ticked in the yellow, edging toward red. Michelle stared through the windshield as the sky went pure white.

            She looked out toward the blue-eyed Roamer. She pointed to the sky, a smile on her face. Realization dawned on the Roamer, just a moment too late. The air began to turn white all around them, the snapping sound like lightning cracking, consuming everything. The Roamer screamed, holding his hands out before him.

            Michelle held her breath, the white wave all around her, but the truck kept her safe. It seemed like an eternity, but in reality, it was no more than a minute, until the white light disappeared, and the forest around her appeared normal.

            But it was far from normal, far from safe. She looked the truck’s radiation meter. It was deep in the red. Michelle knew it might be for weeks. She didn’t let herself panic. The red head said there were supplies in the truck. Michelle reached toward the back, into the covered trunk, and saw a massive heap of food, water, and other survival gear. Plenty for just her to last a long time.

            But what about her family? Did they make it into the cellar? Was anyone hurt?

            Michelle looked around and found a radio. She tuned it to the channel the family designated on, but she only heard static. Then, slowly, the crackling gave way to voices.

            “She’ll be okay.” That was Phil. Phil was alright.

Michelle pressed the button on the radio, speaking into it. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

No response. Then, another voice was heard.

            “How do you know?” Abby asked. Abby was with them.

The outgoing mechanism on her radio must be fried, but it was picking up their signal. But what about James and Joseph? Michelle’s heart began to race, heavy, and aching. James didn’t make it back, did he. Her paranoid thoughts of every possibility continued to assault her like the sun’s radioactive discharges upon the planet. It was too much.

            “I don’t. I just know in my heart. That girl’s a survivor.” Phil’s pride in her pulled her back to the present, helping her not fall into despair. “I’m going to rest a minute. The channel’s open. Keep an eye on the radio. And them.”

            Then, through the radio, she heard something. Laughter and crying can often sound like the same noise, but a mother knew. Joseph’s laughter trickled in over the radio. It was more than she could bare to know he was safe.

“Your name is Borqiz and you’re a troll!” Joseph said.

            Then, she heard James.

            “Borqiz. What kind of name is that!” James called out. She could hear the strain in his voice. Worry, she knew, was for her and her safety. But there was something else on top of it: a command of will, pushing his tone to be comforting.  “Alright, well you better hide because Borqiz the terrible is coming to eat your bones.”

            For a long time, she just listened to the sounds of her husband playing with their son. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Where she was supposed to go. But it didn’t really matter. She would survive. More importantly, so would he.

            Michelle put the key in the ignition and fired up the truck, pulling down the forest road, the only thing guiding her in the sky the dark red of the Ripple.

Three months.
I’ll see you then my love.
I can’t wait to show you a new world. I’ll see you then.
At the beginning.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Nicholas Woods 2025