Once Was Earth - Chapter One

The first chapter into the saga...

Chapter One

I knock three times on what looked to be an abandoned fortress, which looked at one time was an antiquing dream. It’s a shy-looking castle in the countryside of what once was thriving London. It would be a perfect base during the war which would serve as a blending piece of scenery. With no electricity, generators most likely would have powered the “home”. I could tell because I could smell the ozone when I was within ten feet of the castle. No one came to the door so I knocked on the big knocker on the door surely to wake someone who was sleeping in the castle. About a minute later I look up from my watch. 4:36. I better get inside soon. Or go somewhere else. Its winter and it’s very, very cold outside. I start to second guess if I have the right address. As I start to walk toward the mailbox about fifty yards away, not to leave but to check the barely visible address on account to hardly any maintenance. As I turn my back and start to walk away, I hear the huge, arched door swing open. I look back; standing in the doorway is a little old lady. She looked frightened. In a mumbling, confused sort of voice, she says “Wa do yeau wan?” The voice was soft, but sweet.

“Hello, I’m Hershel Davis, from the C.I.A.” I stare blankly at her frightened expression. “Um, uh, no, uh, what’s left of the C.I.A. I just wanted to see if my old chum still lived here… Even… after the war?” The lady nods, her face fades to a smirk slightly. “Are yeau Goggles?”

I smile with relief, zone out my sight to where I could see the cut in my lenses. “Yes, yes I am.”

A tall, familiar man enters the doorway from inside. I look down at his limp leg, then at his crutch, and then I look at his face. He smiles. I smile.

“Now how in theeee hell… Did ya survive all that s**t and never call me?”

We both laugh and we hug. I start to tear up when I feel how soft his hug is.

“You know, even though you were in the C.I.A., you’re still my little brother. Welcome home.”

He pulls back. “Well come in, come in!”

I start to walk in, and he hobbles to the liquor cabinet, pours two glasses of scotch, and one little mug of water. He hands the little old lady her cup of water first, then motions with his head to the living room. It’s cudge. Warm. I grab my glass from him, and help him to the couch. He lets me help him. “You’re still the protector, after all these years.” He sighs as I pull out a stool in front of the couch a bit so he can sit. He puts his leg and wooden peg up on the stool.

I’m still standing so he would notice. I look at him. He sips on his scotch then looks up at me.

His eyes match mine. He starts to tear up. So do I.

“I’m dying.”

“I know Bret. Don’t you have any medicine? Antibiotics?”

He motions for the little lady. She helps him take his fake leg off. As he pulls up his pant leg, rolling up his blood-stained blue jeans, He acknowledged the lady finally in an upbeat, but sad voice. “This here, my friend, is Brenda McCormick. She lived in Scotland until I saved her during the war and brought her here. I was scavenging across the borders for food and supplies to stock up. She was trapped in her house. I could hear her screaming. I beheaded the walkers at her door and windows at the front of her home. I quickly cleaned the Vaseline-covered doorknob by wiping it with my sleeve. See, the old slippery-doorknob trick works! I told so many people…” He laughs. Then stops.

She was in a corner; a very slow walker was limping toward her. I was about to kill it but then, she cried. “No! It’s my son!” I picked her up, and got her to my truck. I locked it with my key-remote, and before I closed the door. I said. “I’m going to do what’s best for your son, and let God do the rest.”

She starts to bawl, and nods. I close the door and lock it. There were about ten more walkers coming. I could see them. Before I got to the house, I looked back at her. She was crying, hiding her face in her hands. I walked in the door way. I then thought to myself. “If these things felt pain… I had to make this painless. Not for it, but for her.” I shot her son in the head. I ran out to the truck I could see the walkers running toward the sound now. And I could see the lady jumping in her seat, screaming. She heard the gunshot. I closed the door behind me, started the truck, and drove off. As she started to calm down a bit, she managed to get out, “Th-Thank yeau…”

I smile with my mouth but not with my eyes. I clear my head and focus on the yellow stripes on the road. All I could think was; “What happened?”

I look down at Bret again. He is still working on pulling up his pant leg. Just him now. Brenda is in the kitchen now. She has tears in her eyes. Subtle, but noticeable. She pours a shot of Jack Daniels. She sips on it silently leaning on the stove. Both hands on the mug.

Bret finally got his pant leg up. He is so weak. I’ve never seen him like this. He looks the same. But he has changed. Everything has changed. I helped him undo his bandage. His leg… it was very infected. It was greenish-purple. And it looked like it was going to pop. I touched his lower thigh. He winced.

“I’m no doctor, but by this point, the infection is probably deep in your bloodstream. I’m surprised you’re still alive. Are you sure you don’t have any meds?”

He nods his head toward the bathroom. I walk briskly toward the haven of medicine, if there was any. I open the mirror-cabinet. I start to cry.

There was a year’s supply of antibiotics, pain medications, and Nyquil.

The Nyquil was the only thing that looked to be used at all.

I walk back toward the couch.

“What are you doing?” I cry.

“He quietly answers. “Why live? I’m already dead inside. I never thought you would come back.” He looked ashamed. Sad. Broken…

I stand quietly. I then flop down on the chair next to him. I totally get it. I understand…

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

You paint such a vibrant darkness in the mood and movement of this first scene. Powerfully confessed in a gritty world that is come undone. Everything pulls one in to read on and on.