Chapter One: Two Years Ago

Samuel Clark stood proudly in the afternoon sun wielding a grin that pulled back on his thickening five o'clock shadow. Both forearms lay cross over the handle of a spade he thrust into the dark brown dirt. Fierce blue eyes took in the rotating lines of dark soil and gray earth that crossed his fields. Dozens of them, each proudly tilled by his hands or the hands of his partner, Darnell Jackson, a man who he served with during the War.

As he stood there admiring his work, daylight burning away, drenching his white shirt and jeans in sweat that same man came up behind him with a burlap sack of seeds clutched in his scarred hands. An explosion during the siege of Boston had soaked the soldier's hands in a burning chemical agent that robbed him of his skin leaving pink tracks of scar tissue on the back of his hands. Darnell's son, Maurice, affectionately called him “Old Pink Hand”.

'Can't believe this is all we got left.' Darnell held the bag before his eyes, worried at the sight of the once giant bag reduced to a morsel small enough to fit in his palm.

He wore as he always did a black polo and a pair of army issued pants, camouflage and all. Even kept his scalp shaven tight to avoid his hair ever growing into the disco afro it was destined to become.

'Think it'll be enough?' Samuel asked him conferring to his experience growing up on a farm.

'If everything goes according to plan, yes.'

'But nothing ever goes according to plan.' Samuel spat carefully aiming away from the field letting loose a thick gob of sputum that landed on a nearby pail clinging to it's rusted side as it dripped down to the dirt.

Darnell gave a deep sigh. 'Guess I'll head to Eli's and pick up some more.'

Samuel noticed his friend give a disheartened look.

'Something wrong Darnell?'

'Man, it's just, Eli's strange. He still acts skittish around black folk. All these years and he treats me like a stranger.'

'Eli's a strange man in general, Darnell. You should have seen that by now. What sort of man collects children toys in the middle of the apocalypse?'

'The strange kind.' Darnell nodded.

Samuel spat once more then turned to his friend. 'I can go for you.'

With a deep grunt and a few cracked knuckles Darnell took a deep breath slowly exhaling the air through his nostrils.

'Nah, Nah. I got this. Elizabeth wants me to go in anyways for something special. Just hope I have enough.'

Without a second thought Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of spare change, which before the war would have amounted to just under two dollars but had more value after the war ended. He extended his coin laden hand to Darnell.

'I'm not taking your money.' Darnell backed away acting as if the change was toxic.

'It's your farm, technically, it's your money.' Samuel persisted.

'We're not playing this game.'

'What game?'

'Sammy, put that hand back down your pants and grab your dick. I'm not taking your money.' Darnell warned him preparing to smack him with the seed bag.

Sam took one look at the money in his hand shrugged and put it back.

'Suit yourself.' He turned back to the soil ready to till one last row crunching a few numbers in his head when he turned back to Darnell who began to plant the seed. 'I know you have money and things to trade, what could you be getting that costs so damn much?'

'That, my grizzled friend, is a secret.' Darnell thrust his hand into the soil depositing the seed as deep as he could manage careful not to settle it too far in. A delicate technique Samuel could never master he was happy to have his friend there. Though it was Darnell's farm, it was Samuel's land but together they made the whole system work.

'Can you believe this is our twelfth harvest?'

'You know, after all the shit we've been through. I can believe it. We deserve this.'

Sam gave a light chuckle casting his gaze over his shoulder. Behind them, away from the fields sat two large wooden buildings. A barn for their equipment and the two horses they were able to wrangle into service and one large log built house. In that testament of persistence and enduring spirit both his and Darnell's family lived.

'Compared to our lives before this I'd say we are the lucky ones.'

'Lucky is a medium-rare steak with exceptional marbling and a nice cold dark tall one.' Darnell licked his lips almost tasting the food and beer.

'You're many things, Darnell. But you have shit taste in steak. It's rare or nothing at all. The perfect steak is the one a skilled veterinarian could still save.' Sam stated upturning the burnt topsoil.

'You're wrong.'

'I ain't wrong.' 

'You're wrong, Sammy. Just accept it. You should be used to it right now.' All Darnell could do was laugh, his deep voice heard from miles around.

'Prove to me medium-rare is better.'

'Find me a cow first and I will.'

Samuel bit his cheek, paused, then stared at his black boots. 'I can't remember the last time I even saw one. Can't remember the last time I had steak either.'

'I can.' Darnell sat back on his calves wiping dirt off on his camouflage print pants smearing it deep into the fabric at the thigh. Already Samuel could imagine the scolding he would receive from Elizabeth with that nasty habit. 'It was that night. We were in the bunker, Jeff and Allie were sitting at the table, we were off to the side waiting for the quartermaster to come through with food. We hadn't eaten for three days, got stuck on the front.'

Samuel did his best to recall his own life but the times then were so different it felt like a fairy-tale lived through another person's eyes. Try as he might the memories would not come no matter.

Darnell caught the empty look in his friend's eyes seeing the memory vacant from his thought. 'It was the Siege of Boston. The final push. Don't you remember that?'

'Truth be told, Darnell. I don't. Even if I did, I'm not sure I'd want to.' He admitted continuing to churn the soil, clearing away the top to reveal fresher dirt below.

For a moment Darnell just stared at him, his big brown eyes reading his friend's thoughts like an open book. Of course neither of them needed to say anything to convey their troubled souls, and Darnell, knowing of his past, did not pry.

'Well, you might have forgotten but I remember it well. It was supposed to be the last push, we were dead on our feet, the whole platoon just couldn't wait to leave. Then the Quartermaster came by, told us it was our “Special treat” to give us the strength to push through the Chinese lines. More like a final meal before the grinder, ' Darnell chuckled touching both indexes and thumbs together estimating the size of the steak, it wasn't very large, 'Handed each and every one of us a steak covered in mushrooms and sauce. And I'm not talking this tiny dollop of sauce like some sissy just tapped the bottle, it was drenched in the stuff. Properly savaged by that shit. I ain't ever see Jeff's eyes light up so much I tell you. He was a different kind of man he was. Until he bit into it.'

'Tasted like fucking plastic. No amount of sauce or mushrooms could save that fucking hockey puck.' Samuel spat out, his lips curled in disgust.

A smile slowly crept across Darnell's face 'No. Nothing could. But we still ate it. Together. One last time.'

'One last time....' Samuel muttered.

Darnell pushed a closed fist against his mouth releasing a horrid cough that must have felt like needles shoved down his throat for his next words came out coarse and strained. 'Shit. I think I need some water.' He stood brushing himself off the fine puffs of dust clouds rocketing from his shirt shimmering in the bright afternoon sun. 'You want any?'

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'I'm good.' Sam continued to drive the spade into the dirt carefully turning it away revealing the fresh soil underneath.

Darnell wiped the sweat from his brow, wetting the dirt on his arms into a smudged texture. He glanced at the sky, the unceasing sun's stare burning the landscape all around shrouding everything in it's orange glow. He shrugged and began to wonder off towards the house.

Their house was a mismatch of wooden walls and scrap metal. Anything rigid and sturdy they could get their hands on. Even car hoods bolted to the side served as walls, although it's integrity was never in question the sound of rain hitting it's side at first a calming sound quickly became overrated. Despite this the sheets of metal proved invaluable in supporting the house's frame.

After Apollo had turned the largest trees to ash few remained large enough with which to work besides twigs. Unless of course you braved the hostile lands to the North where Apollo's touch could not be felt. A place where rumors swirled of snow and fresh water with fields of endless grass stretching from horizon to horizon.

As Samuel continued to till the soil, digging out of the world his own little mark in the desolate wasteland he couldn't help but wonder if those stories were true. Tales gifted by travelers whom they would shelter spoke of this as fact. To his ears fairy tale stories brushed aside by the horrors that Apollo had brought, horrors he had seen first hand. Still the thought left a small warmth in his heart that maybe one day there was a paradise from their families. Then he heard a loud thump come from the barn across the field and he remembered the fear the wasteland instilled in all things.

Suddenly the shovel was hoisted over his head, cocked over his shoulder dripping the last remnants of dirt that clung helpless to it's rusted face onto the back of his neck. Samuel approached the barn, a behemoth of scrap and wood. Logs for posts, metal sheets for walls with whatever they had laying around tying the mess together. His own son, Dylan, desperately wanted to paint it red like the ones in the books his mother scavenged, a dark part of him joked how it would soon be red if this was a bandit in his barn.

Samuel stood before the door ready to slide it open. ''If you've come to steal there ain't nothing here that's worth your life. If food is what you're after I'm happy to share what we can with you.'

There came no answer. For one moment then, a dark thought crept into his mind, a remainder really of who he was, how he hadn't killed anyone in a long time. And yet, despite all he'd accomplish towards building a peaceful life, he was more than willing to do so again.

Taking the handle in one hand, he felt a war cry build in his throat and he let loose his blood curdling yell coupling it with the screeching sound of grinding metal from the sliding door that would have made any man cower in fear.

Instead there was no man, no stranger even, just two shocked children sitting in the middle of the barn playing in the dust with handmade toys. Their young faces stared at him with stunned expressions and Samuel paused until finally they erupted into laughter that caused the two hitched horses at the far end to neigh almost mockingly at the man.

'Dammit Dylan! Why didn't you answer me?' Samuel yelled at his son who continued to laugh forcing him to turn to the other child, Diamond, Darnell's daughter who was only a few months younger than Dylan. 'Diamond why didn't you say anything? Your father raised you better than to not answer.'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Clark. Dylan said it would be funny if we didn't say anything.' She admitted staring at the ground.

'Not funny, Diamond. Dangerous.' Samuel hissed the word through his teeth unable to properly emphasize the meaning of that word.

'Come on dad. How is that dangerous?' Dylan said his laughter dying down.

Samuel stared at his son almost stunned but not surprised at Dylan's lack of understanding of just how dangerous the world had become. Born after Apollo, born after they'd found a place to settle he had not seen the struggle to survive, he had not witnessed the earth run red with blood. Diamond hadn't either. Only Maurice was old enough to remember and that hardened him.

For a moment he wondered if it was the right choice to block out the reality of the world, to allow them to keep living in their small peaceful part of life. Sure, they learned that things were different from the world described in the pages of their history books but they hadn't lived it. As much as he wanted to shatter their illusion to better prepare them it was precisely why he worked so hard so that such a time will never come again.

He let out a deep sigh, 'You guys just- just need to be careful....What are you doing in here anyway?'

'Playing.' Diamond responded cordially.

'Playing?' Samuel bit his cheek. 'Well, what are you playing?'

'We're not playing. We're talking.' Dylan corrected her.

'About?'

'About the War.'

'The war, huh?' Samuel spat on the ground feeling the grit of gathering dust like sandpaper against his teeth.

'What was it like? You were there, weren't you Dad? The Siege of Boston! The Skyline Blitz of New York! Were you ever overseas in China?' The excitement in Dylan's voice made him uncomfortable.

Samuel stood quietly half tempted to snatch away his son's books and burn them. To forget the past. To forget the things he had done. Those final few books, pushed out for propaganda shortly before Apollo. They spoke of heroic deeds, grand strategies and the noble acts of men and women fighting for their country. Never once mentioning the massacres, the genocide the absolute desperation for both sides to fight a losing war where even the victor will have lost everything. And then of course, the coup de gras, Apollo, nearly wiping out life on Earth.

'Yes, I was at Boston. Me and Old Pink Hand.' Samuel scratched his chin. 'It was a different time then.'

Dylan seemed displeased with his rather sparse answer. Showing it with a twisted face like he'd smelled something foul.

'And?' The boy tried to push him further but the stories he sought were Samuel's nightmares.

'Don't push it Dylan!' Diamon urged him but his son, much like his father was if anything, tenacious.

'I want to know more.' Dylan said.

'Then read some more books. Your mother found plenty for you.'

'But they can't tell me what I want to know.'

'What do you want to know?' Samuel asked cocking his eyebrow.

When Dylan hesitated to answer Diamond spoke up for him. 'He wants to know what it's like to kill someone.'

Samuel first looked at her confused, then at Dylan, and for a few seconds it hadn't really struck him what she had said until when it did all he could utter was, 'Huh.'

Collecting his thoughts he continued, 'What on Earth would make you even think about that?'

Dylan averted his gaze his hands beginning to fidget with the buttons of his shirt. Bits of dirt that had collected from the day's playing about fell from the eyelets onto his jeans.

'Maurice's been having his nightmares again. Nightmares about Saco. And it's made me wonder what it's like.' Dylan explained but it still did not settle well in his stomach.

'Saco? Oh, Christ....' A dreadful feeling sat in Samuel stomach.

Saco, Maine. Maurice must have been six at the time. They were all at a refugee camp, Apollo had just finished destroying the world and the country collapsed. Supplies ran out and things got desperate. Darnell gave his son a gun for protection, which he used to kill a man that got the better of his father. That moment has stuck with him ever since. Perfectly functional young man but nightmares can shave away even the sturdiest man's sanity. Sleep is the only refuge from this shit world, it does no man any good to fear falling asleep.

'He's having them again?' Samuel turned to Diamond. 'Does your father know?'

'No. It's just started a few nights ago. I've been trying to calm him down but he's always angry when he wakes up.'

'Has he gotten violent?' Samuel asked.

'No.' She answered.

'Hmm.' He speared the shovel into a mound of dirt in the corner then turned back to them. 'I'll talk to Maurice maybe I can help him. As for you two-,' He sighed staring at Dylan specifically, 'You want to know what it's like to kill someone?'

His son nodded slowly, anticipating his words.

'The problem with that, son, is it's different for everybody. No one person can tell you what it's like to kill someone. Some people are heartless, some suffer for years after, like Maurice.'

'Are you heartless?' Dylan asked innocently.

'I love you. I love your mother. I love Diamond and her family. Does that make me heartless?'

'No.'

Samuel took a deep breath. 'I have done a lot of things. Things that I'm not proud of. But everything I have done, I have done to make sure you and everyone that comes after you will not have to live through the sins of their fathers. I realize that probably doesn't make a lot of sense to you-,' He paused waiting for Dylan to nod in agreement which he did, 'But it's what it is. I want a better life for you. Do you understand that? A life where you won't ever have to think about what it's like to kill. Got it?'

Although it was not the most direct answer his son was hoping for it seemed to have done the job. Dylan nodded approvingly though you could see it in his eyes he remained curious none the less. Perhaps that was a conversation for another day when Dylan was older.

'Alright, you two wash up and get ready.' Samuel's eyes flicked to Diamond. 'I'm sure your mother has lunch ready or could use some help finishing.'

'Yes, Sir.' Diamond stood brushing off her jeans and white blouse. She pulled Dylan to his feet. 'I think Maurice is at the river if you want to talk to him.'

'Thanks. Tell your father I've gone to get him in case he wonders where I went.'

'I will.' She said leaving the barn so that just Dylan and Samuel stood there alone.

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'Are you going to tell mom?'

Samuel gave a light chuckle, 'Of course I am. We share no secrets.' He saw the fear grow behind his son's eyes. Clasping Dylan's right shoulder, 'I know she can be terrifying, she keeps me in line, but your Mother wants more than me for you to be safe and to bloom into an incredible person, someone who can change the world for the better.'

'Like those moms that want their sons to be doctors in all my books? It's a bit cliché isn't it?' Dylan winked causing a wide grin to pull across Samuel's face. Taking the boy's head between both hands, cupping the hair he began to ruffle it vigorously.

'Don't you think it's time for a hair cut?' Samuel asked making the boy chuckle. 'I'm sure Elizabeth would have no problem giving you a hair cut.'

'I'd rather her not.' Dylan admitted.

'Then you best go help your mother with lunch. Then do your chores.' He said watching Dylan's nose wrinkle in distaste. 'Hmm?'

'Chores... Do I have to?'

Samuel took a deep breath and explained. 'Yes. Everyone has to pitch in. Even Diamond does her part. Working together is what's going to rebuild the world.' From a nearby hook he plucked a wooden bucket offering it to Dylan. 'Fetch some water from the well. I'm sure your mother could use it.'

Staring at the aging pail it took his son a moment to relent and accept the bucket taking it in both hands. Curiously tipping it's edge he watched dust roll off it's lip disappearing into the air long before hitting the ground. With a quick jerk he dislodged the remaining dust and looked up at his father.

Samuel stared down at his son, 'You going?'

The boy gave a disappointed frown. 'Yeah, I guess.'

'Come on. Git.' He told Dylan who gave a huff accepting that playtime was over and wandered out of the barn to the well Samuel had dug years ago. It had been the crux that cemented their decision to stay.

Samuel watched his son leave, shoulders drooped low lacking the same vigor apparent in his small frame when he did things he enjoyed. Dylan, still just a boy, had a lot of growing up to do but that time had not come yet. It filled him with a sense of fulfillment to know his son even had the option to be disappointed towards simple things such as chores. Perhaps the world was finally returning to what it once was.