The banks of the long winding road lay with thick pines and evergreens and they towered over them and shook in the wind like ancient beings of wisdom; the veil of the dark lifted and revealed distant mountains shining their snowy heads in front of them. Songbirds returned and sang their joyous morning greenwood hymns as wildlife sprung back to life. The sun lay tucked away behind the overcast of royal blue and timid amber. He often pondered the cause of the changed sky: perhaps the aftermath of countless nuclear reactor meltdowns, perhaps something supernatural.
In their wake they left the lawn of the cracked macadam bent.
“We’re almost there,” he said as he began to see some buildings through the gaps of trees ahead. They moved slow as snails; she looked sickly.
“Thank God,” she uttered in a frail voice. They met a corroded sign:
“Welcome to Ashtown
Enjoy your stay”
Some letters were missing.
They sought refuge in the nearest building left of the road—a coffee shop. Shards of glass decorated the entrance and the pavement littered with grass-patches and rubbish. To the right of the road a gas station, then a bar, then something else. The town lay tucked in the shadow of a towering mountain, and to the left of it a heavenly valley with pines and evergreens as far as the eyne could see. God’s unmowed lawn, he thought.
They made their way inside the coffee shop, cracking the small pieces of glass with their boots. It is perfect, he thought: a coffee enthusiast’s paradise. Moldy coffee beans littered the zebra-tiled floor while liquids of weird growths sat quietly in espresso cups. They found some dusty couches in an employee resting area and locked the door behind them and took off their boots and laid unto the brown couches with a heavy sigh.
“Ah, finally,” he moaned; she thudded on a davenport next to him and fell adream before he could blink.
The windows high up and narrow yet with fair daylight. A water cooler half-full. Rotting foodstuffs emitted a stink from the closed fridge. He rose and laid some blankets on the sleeping girl and sat beside her and smiled, then checked the rest of the room. A bunch of pens and cups, yellowing papers, dust and junk everywhere. Some windows open; pigeon nests upon closet-tops like crowns of twigs. Vines came from the outside and in through the windows as nature took back what was hers.
He dozed off in a divan and dreamt fond dreams of childhood. A whisper went by his ear and he awoke, confused if he dreamt it or not. Daytime; she snored cutely. Something sniffed behind the closed door; he sat up with his pistol in hand and waited. He waited and waited and waited some more. Soon he heard soft paws walk away.
As it got dark he took out candles fat and long from their plastic bags and lit them and placed them in jars with holes in the lids. One on the fridge, one on the table, a few around the couches, a few near the windows. He shut the windows as best he could and taped yellowed newspapers over the cracked ones. He washed out a dusty cup with water from the water cooler and took sips of bourbon as the unearthly lullabies sang. He meditated some passed words of wisdom, recent happenings, possible misfortunes, and acts of misguided goodwill. He pondered the monk they had met some days ago and if his words held any merit: the thought amused him. Surely a geezer at his last steps on the trail of life and long after the finish line of sanity had any remaining eggs of wisdom in his basket.
Still, he wondered. What would they look like? From where did they speak and with what purpose? Is it even they and not it? The old-timer had resparked unanswered thoughts and questions that had long ago fizzled out of him much like any purpose in life apart from keeping the girl safe—for without the girl he might as well just plunge into the murk and answer all of his curiosities at once.
He awoke in the night to the sound of scratches on the door. Sounds real, he thought. Maybe a rat. He sat with his handgun aimed at the door and waited, rumors of laughter and wailing distracting him. The glims now melted a little; the dark surrounded them: it surrounded them in the corners of the room and the corners of their heart. Knocks and bangs echoed throughout the small coffee shop. Doorknobs rattled and doorbells rang. The darkness wanted to be heard.
He kept silent and watchful though inevitably dozed off after the scratching stopped.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Nura was smiling down at him. The glims had almost melted completely and the land lay graced by birdsong and sunlight. He grunted and uttered a how-are-you.
“I’m great, but you don’t look too good,” she said as she prepared their jentacular.
“Mm-hmm.” He grunted. “Something was scratching at the door,” he said as he rose to check the door and saw scratch marks on the lower side of it.
“Rats?”
“Nah, this one’s nails are too big to be a rat, unless the radiation made us some new neighbors,” he answered cheekily; Sam glanced over the lobby of the coffee shop—a stillness in the air.
They enjoyed their breakfast with some old instant coffee and set out to scavenge what was left of the quaint little town. Rusted grassy cars lay strewn about the streets and walls like a chaotic child’s playpen; mountains looked down at them, their snowy hats and evergreens on their sharp crags and cliffs like hairs.
Chipped paint lay sprinkled on the ground nigh the gas station walls; he checked the dusty gas pumps and clicked the trigger a few times. Nothing. Unlit bulbs of all colors decorated the facade. Inside lay a mess: rubble and putrid stuff scattered everywhere beyond the point of maggot and housefly interest; grass sprouted from cracks in tiles. Flittermice fluttered quietly in the far nooks and some small skeletons lay about. With noses tucked away in their shirts they grabbed the red shopping baskets and examined the shelves and litter in the aisles for things useful.
Among the rotten provender and rat-ravaged cereals they found some useful things: dried fruits packed in heavy plastic, dehydrated carrots, Twinkies, honey, TP, powdered milk, salt, batteries, lighters, matches, candles, comic books, newspapers, and some questionable sodas. A gentle draft everyplace the building and patches of mold on the ceiling and dark nooks. He grabbed some minty chewing gum from beside the cash register and put the brittle pieces in his mouth and offered her some. They placed a few crumpled banknotes in the register and carried the baskets to the couches.
A windowless gun shop stood forgotten near the overgrown basketball court. They stepped inside through the window wall: not much left—some knives and protective gear, hunting clothes, target practice papers, deer calls and lures, holsters, decoys. “Big guns for big game,” the sign under the deer head read. Under a cracked display case lay a pink handgun with a white kitty and a ribbon engraved into the handle.
“I like this one,” she exclaimed. They found two 9mm rounds under the display case for her and three lonely .38 Special rounds for his revolver; they grabbed an army knife for each and headed out into the windswept streets. She kept the pistol in her right pocket just as Sam did.
The amber blue skies rose like billows in a sea of color as if a French painting; the nearby trees shed bronze leaves to the winds like ashes; forest scents came in the gusts and their hair danced with it. The town lay flooded in furrows and lower parts—the wake of burst water pipes and passing storms—breeding odors and horseflies. Walking through the puddles on the roads they left wet footprints as autumn leaves stuck to their soles.
The ghost town carried an ethereal beauty within it: the man-made shelters and places of trade slowly succumbed to the elements of nature as the wildlife claimed the bricks and cement their home. Birds nested and cooed atop wild rooftops; deer kept a curious eye from a distance; rats and mice squeaked from their dark places. It was their home now, and they—mere guests.
A small school, a library, a fire station: their purpose once meaningful now served only as crumbling shelters and corpses of a once-blooming civilization. Withering roadside food stands and ice cream shops and diners stood side-by-side with larches and pines as squirrels and vines covered their facades.
They explored colorful apartment buildings; the wallpapers inside slowly bowed to the elements and flayed. Gusts flurried dirt and leaves through the fractured windows and littered the floors and stairways. A few more years of this and it will look like a garden, he thought. Rooms messy, cluttered with belongings of someone and someones long passed—school backpacks and books, dirty toys, mothed clothes, rancid provender left on tables.
On a yellowing note fluttering in the breeze on a fridge was inked a faded text:
“Leftover lasagna in the fridge
See u after work xoxo”
“What’s xoxo?” she asked.
“Hugs and kisses,” he replied broodingly, reminiscing about the similar notes his wife used to leave.
“Cute,” she muttered, holding the note in her hand. A red lip-print marked the bottom right corner of it.
As it got dark they left the austere building and made their way back to the coffee shop and dined on the sweets and luxuries of the eld world and rested. The sun faded with its scarlet goodbye and the dark had come and seemed to come just for them. Walls around them mumbled invitations to the dark like dull repetitions. He had written many songs and played them and she sang along. They ignored the harshness of the world and enjoyed the little things, for that is all they had left.
They awoke to the sounds of nature and rain; the skies sang in colors of gray with splotches of orange; melted glims sat in their glass jars. Their roommates cooed atop their crown nests as raindrops trickled down the windows and vines, peppering the glass and newspaper pages. They ate, they laughed, and they checked their map: it unfolded with a scrunch and revealed the surroundings. Roads and rivers twisted and curved around each other, towns and cities showed their unfulfilled dreams as they lay crumbling in the shadow of nature. The road led east: a wayward walk downhill through alleys of trees and valleys of mountains. Dalton, the next small town, a way aways—about a fortnight march; shortcut trails led through the wood that fell into the radius of a forgotten nuclear power plant.
“So what’s next?” she asked.
“Well, we can walk the road downhill and then try the trails. But coming close to the plant may be dangerous.”
“How dangerous?”
“Rats the size of wolves dangerous,” he answered jokingly.
“We’ll see who laughs when a six-legged bear comes at ya.”
He’d grabbed a Geiger counter and potassium iodide pills some winters ago from what looked like a paranoid scientist’s apartment. The wallpapers were made of scientific notes and a madman’s equations, he reminisced. He checked if the yellow gadget still works—it made a few clicks and he shut it off. They grabbed all of their heavy gear and headed out but before they could take a step out the door a dead rat greeted them with blood from its neck.
“Hmm...a gift from our pawed friend?” he said as he crouched down to get a better look.
“Looks like we have our dinner.”
“Go right ahead.”
They kept a watchful eye as they slowly walked out of the coffee shop.
“Maybe some creep is stalking us?” she asked; he kept silent and looked around.
Flocks of crows graced the amber sky as waves of clouds danced in the background. Opened windows creaked in the breeze while tarnished silver weathervanes spun on rooftops. They wandered through puddles and crisp autumn leaves while sidestepping the flooded areas and corroded vehicles.
“What’s that?” she asked. A little away under a giant oak sat what looked like a wolf, quietly observing them. It donned black fur with white spots and a muddy appearance.
“Did you bring us the gift, big guy?” he asked; the animal rose and started walking toward them warily, swaying its pate from one to the other; they stood still. It approached them, sniffed them both, then sat in front of them while panting with a big grin; she smiled and extended her hand and touched his calm head softly, petting it.
“Be careful,” he spoke. “It could be dangerous.”
“It needs a name,” she replied, still petting the beast. “It’s a dog, right?” she questioned as the mud from it stuck to her glove.
“I’m not sure,” he replied as he crouched down to pet it. “Looks like a husky. We had one when I was young. A boy.” He smiled a smile that quickly faded as he was struck with a wave of emotions, resurrecting a memory that lay dead for a long time.
“What did you call him?”
“Um…Rocket.”
“Rocket’s a good name. For a girl too,” she replied as she stared into the beast’s turquoise eyes—the eyes which told of a great many sad things. She had never seen a dog but in books and fables that slept in dark, dusty libraries.
“What happened to your dog?” she asked; no answer came.
“Let’s go, maybe it will follow,” he muttered. She took something from her pocket and gave it to the husky: he smelled it and swallowed it with a tasty gulp. As they walked, the beast followed.
“Sorry we didn’t taste your rat. It looked good though,” he said looking back at the dog, who looked back at him as if understanding each word, “...and you need a bath.”
Bitter winds howled and golden leaves flurried all around them, crunching under their boots and falling to their faces; the air crisp and rejuvenating. They passed swaying nooses hung from tall trees, they passed buildings that had entertained the masses. They passed packs of deer and seas of trees and kept looking at their newfound friend who seemed grateful for the company. As they approached the last buildings of the town, the wilds met them with their abundant sounds as the macadam led through lopsided alleys of emerald trees and damned structures.
To their right the last building lay with shopping carts strewn about its facade, squeaking ever so slightly in the winds.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said as he approached one of the carts and threw his heavy pack into it with a thud. “Get in.”
“You must be joking,” she replied with a hint of laughter.
“No, I ain’t.”
“Okay then,” she said as her pack joined his and she jumped onto them with her arms clutching the sides of the cart. “Let’s roll, old man.”
He lined up the cart with the downhill road and ran and jumped on the bottom pole of the rickety silver cart. They rattled down the hill gracefully with Rocket in tow. Lines of trees zoomed past them and Sam held onto his black cap as it began to slide off his pate from the fierce winds; his cloak fluttered. They laughed and whoo-ed and screamed while moist leaves smashed into their faces; the creaky cart shook furiously on its last bolts and screws. He leaned his weight from side to side to steer it through bends and bumps and lopsided branches as Rocket sped alongside them panting with his tongue out as if chasing an ice cream truck.
They approached a river to their left behind a line of trees and thickets and the cart inevitably came to a halt. She let out her last frail whoo and climbed out of the cart with the help of Sam.
“And you thought it was a bad idea,” he remarked laughingly.
“We were going so fast and whoosh and I thought we would crash and ahh!” she replied, her heart still pumping from the adrenaline.
“I’m not ashamed to say it wasn’t my first rodeo with a shopping cart,” he proudly stated.
“I think I swallowed a few bugs,” she said, coughing.
They kept the packs in the cart as he pushed it and they walked along the rivery road until they came to a secluded trail and grabbed their knapsacks and walked into the thick woods. The once trodden trails were overgrown with grass and at times the trail drowned in it and resurfaced a few steps later. Lichenous wooden signposts showed their faded landmarks and they followed. As they headed deeper into the sea of dingles the songs of birds and bugs grew louder. Branches cracked in the winds and under their soles. The greenwood floor lay scattered with bronze leaves and thick thickets, rotting boughs and iffy growths. Shy packs of deer kept a distant watch. They always ran out of sight, allowing for just a glimpse of their light-brown butts vanishing into the shrub.
As the night approached the calming murmurs of nature faded and they put on their head torches and navigated through the dense brushwood. Their beams of light illuminated the trail and the dog kept near them: sometimes in front, sometimes to the side. Mockings of dog whimpers came from random directions. The forest felt alive as if trying to lose them in its disorientating maze; the trail nigh invisible, tucked away behind the discardings of nature.
They came to a wide river where once a wooden bridge promised safe passage. All that lay there now were moss-grown logs sticking out of the water like quills of a gigantic hedgehog.
“What now?”
“We’ll camp here and figure it out in the morning,” he replied as he put down his heavy bag with a thud and turned on his Geiger counter which made a few more clicks than afore, then turned it off.
The cold river bubbled by as the leaves glided for a swim; trees encircled them like a lee; the surroundings melted into black silhouettes as the wan sun faded.
They gathered thin twigs and fat branches and made a blaze on the rough golden sands nigh the river. Splashes of water echoed as large fish played in the calm blue. The dirty dog dove into the river and seconds later reemerged with a long fish and shook off the water and carried it to her.
“Wow! Thanks a much.”
Sam put one of his blankets on the wet dog and rubbed him dry. Rocket was happily panting and looking at both of them and laid near the crackling blaze looking at the dark woods whence they came. Trees howled and shadows danced in the murk. Sam prepared the trout and cooked it and shared it amongst them. He kept watch on the fire and surroundings as she tried to fall asleep in her sleeping bag with Rocket lying beside her under a tarp next to the fire.
Voices and rumors crept around in the dark: one sang a lullaby in a thrawn voice while another lurked in the darkling waters just to whisper nonsense to them. He threw a rock in its direction and it made a splash and the whispering stopped. He dreamt of a place so bright that none of them could make a peep. He wished for a place where she could feel safe and alive. Perhaps we should live on the Sun, he thought, amusing himself as if a great scholar. He then heard a splash from the woods and ignored it and kept stoking the cinders; Nura fell adream with a smile. One of my happiest days in a long, long time.