Authors: K Broas
When Hope was a young girl in her late teens, she never quite fit in. While most girls her age spent time at malls and thinking about guys, she struggled at home. The death of her father when she was thirteen, left a chasm in her life that was never fully repaired. She’d isolate herself and wo
uld bang on her father’s guitar oblivious to the world around her. Her mother did her best, but she too was destroyed by the loss of her husband. Both she and her mom went through the motions drifting further and further apart. As Hope fell through the cracks, her mother moved on finding a new boyfriend and spending much of her time away from home. At a time when Hope needed guidance in her life, all she had were her friends. She started staying out late and experimenting with drugs. Then when her grades suffered, no one was there to give her direction. She floated around her wonderful hometown, locked in a cycle of drinking and disconnecting.
One summer day
, Hope’s mom announced they were going to move across town. The house had become too expensive, and her mom saw this as an opportunity to move in with her new boyfriend, Carl. Life drifted along without much change since Hope spent most of her time with her friends anyway. Carl was a kind man, completely in love with Hope’s mother. The problem with the arrangement was that Hope needed a mom and not a “Carl”. She spent more and more time with her friends and started dabbling in harder drugs. She was just sixteen years old, barely a woman, when she first tried methamphetamine.
From that moment on
, her family no longer mattered as she stole from them, lied to them, and blamed them for her life. She became more despondent, spending every waking moment with her tight, dependent group of friends. Then, when Hope dropped out of high school when only a sophomore, she was completely surprised that nobody cared. She faded away as if she never existed – just a picture in the yearbook that nobody knew. She took a job at a craft store and disappeared from the community. Once she left it all behind her, she was warmly welcomed into the community of the night. During this time in her life, she had never felt so accepted and loved.
These strung out strangers gave her something she hadn’t felt in years, understanding. She was one of them, and they loved her just the way she was. This was also the time when she honed her craft
and became amazing with the tread and needle. There was always plenty to mend, and she had hours to kill. When Hope was high on speed, she’d spend hours upon hours obsessed with the perfection of her stitching. Much of her young life consisted of meth, music, and thread.
There were short periods of time when things would brighten for Hope. When she was eighteen, she became pregnant. Barely an adult herself, she relied heavily on her mother. The strained relationship became even more difficult with the addition of new responsibility. She loved her baby so much in fact, that she mended the relationship with her mother. Sober and in control, she was able to push her reckless lifestyle aside to be everything her child needed. Her endeavors were commendable and lasted for almost five years. Never the less, her life as a young mother ended in bitterness and relapse. The county social services stepped in
, and Hope lost her boy sliding back into her life of addiction and despair. Blaming her mother, Hope severed all ties and returned to what filled her void, methamphetamine.
Hope settled right in among the
RVs, doing what she always did – mending the tattered. Although she had spent all the silver she had brought, she could still make a living sewing. She quickly repaired the clothing of those in her new community. Within two weeks she became a trusted member of the crew. She also shared in the work around the compound, feeding the animals and gathering goods for barter. This is where her value became evident. She offered her sewing abilities to travelers around St. Louis in trade for valuable items. She’d acquired two new bicycles and several propane fuel tanks for her new friends. She even spent time with Anthony, Sara’s husband, who still struggled with illness, but continued to get stronger every day. Her life found a sense of strange normalcy living as an outcast in the decaying city.
Hope stayed focused on her duties avoiding the
familiar demons that once haunted her in the past. She’d become very close with Jacob as he didn’t use the foul drug. When the others indulged in their synthetic god, Jacob and Hope would sit together apart from the group.
“Does it bother you that your wife uses? Don’t get me wrong, I love
Buhina, but I notice that you never smoke, why is that?” Hope asked cautiously.
Jacob’s eyes filled with emotion as he replied, “Well everyone has their thing. You love music,
Meera loves singing, I love Buhina, and she loves meth. I know she loves me too, but meth gives her something I can’t. Now-a-days we all are just trying to survive, you know?”
Feeling embarrassed by her questi
on, Hope pushed a little deeper. “Of course she loves you. I’m just wondering if you’ve ever tried it.”
“Years ago I
did a couple times, but never liked the rush. It made me feel out of control, and that’s the last thing I need right now,” Jacob replied. “I just don’t want to serve anyone or anything. It’s all about finding freedom of the individual self. I see how Buhina struggles when it’s not around, and I don’t need that in my life.”
Hope sat quietly letting Jacobs words sink in. “But
isn’t it important to have self-confidence? That starts with seeing yourself as an individual,” Hope responded.
Jacob sa
t back and continued to explain. “I hear what you’re saying, but what’s missing is the fact that everything is connected. It’s not about individuality, but instead about knowing we’re all connected. Since there’s only the spirit, and we’re all part of the spirit, we’re all divine. Until we figure that out, we all just continue in the same old patterns, forever.”
Hope and Jacob were suddenly interrupted by the others now finished with their ritual of addiction.
“We need to do something, something fun. All we ever do is work,” Meera said clearly high.
“Yea
h, let’s go burn something. All this shit around here. Nobody would even care,” David insisted trying to hide his ticks and random spastic movements.
“Burn something. T
hat’s all you ever come up with. Let’s do something that will be remembered. Something epic! Something that’s never been done before. Let’s float down the river to the ocean bare ass naked. Something crazy to show ‘em America’s still got it.” William said with sweat dripping off his face.
“
Fuck that. I remember seeing this nature show one time that tracked sharks all the way up into Indiana. I think it was a Bull Shark. Now a Bull Shark, a Bull Shark would tear you up. They grow big, like thirty feet long and shit,” David replied trying to appear educated. “Anyway, I can’t swim, so definitely no water for me.”
Feeling inspired by the sky full
of clouds silhouetted black with silver edges in the November moon, Hope grabbed Buhina’s guitar which was resting close by. She began to quietly strum while conversation pushed on.
“You know I’ve never been to the ocean?” Sara confe
ssed. “I’ve had the opportunity. Just never the interest.”
Everyone around the fire sat up with curiosity. “Never…
you’ve never even seen the beach?” Meera said unable to believe Sara.
“Well Tony and I never really had the extra money to travel. When we actually saved for a vacation, we always went to the mountains or the desert. That’s his thing. He’s drawn t
o the beautiful landscapes. Says he can feel the universe speak to him when he’s a couple thousand feet up or in wide open spaces,” Sara explained sitting on the edge of her seat. Hope continued to play assorted chords which added impact to Sara’s story. “It’s really amazing how lucky we are to call such a beautiful planet home. When I leave this life, I hope to come back here again in my next one,” Sara said as the group sat and thought about her words.
“Hope
, that sounds so peaceful,” Meera said as she listened to the soft music echo around their bodies. “Can you play something for us?”
Hope opened her eyes and looked at
Meera with kindness, compassion, and understanding. “Is there anything specific you want to hear?” asked Hope.
Meera
thought for a moment and then replied, “Whatever that is… what you’re playing right now. That song. Does that have lyrics?”
“Yes
it does. It’s called “Get Lonely”, by The Mountain Goats. It was one of my father’s favorite songs,” Hope said as she began to play louder adding structure to the song with her chords. She continued to play the progression a couple times and then lifted her voice to sing.
The melancholy arrangement touched the group riddled with loss and trapped in addiction. Tears rolled down the hardened faces as Meera sat in amazement. Between the verses, Hope painted feelings of longing with the simple guitar. She played delicately, picking each string intently. Everyone could feel the tenderness of the moment and identified with the meaning in the lyrics. The harsh surroundings vanished leaving just the fire, the night, and the people in the circle. She continued softly strumming the guitar.
By the time Hope played her last note, the emotion in the group ripped at everyone. Hope began to cry. She couldn’t shake the memories that had surfaced. Each person struggled with their own version of what Hope was going through. Silently they sat in
the purity of authentic sorrow feeling lost among one another. Jacob stood and slowly walked over embracing Hope. Meera followed and joined in the outpouring of compassion. Before long every member of their small tribe stood among the flickering lights holding each other weeping. Bahina pulled a bench close to her devastated friends and pulled out her small glass pipe. This time she did not form the huddle far away from the rest of the group. She dropped a few shards into the pipe and passed it to Jacob. He looked deep into his wife’s loving eyes and then glanced at Hope filling his lungs full of the toxic fumes. Buhina then took the warm pipe and handed it to Hope. Her pain melted away as the chemical smoke consumed her spirit.
Chapter 9
Ocean City
Late October winds howled across the ocean, casting salty flakes into the resilient town. Joy walked quickly through the busy streets determined to make it to work on time. Fumbling
with her time card, she slid it into the old manual time punch. “Made it,” she thought to herself.
“Hey Joy, what area are you working tonight?” Cindy
asked making small talk with her new friend. “I’m out front again tonight.”
Joy smiled at Cindy, who was one of the few people she knew in Ocean City.
“Yeah, looks like I’m out front too. Do you think it will be busy again tonight?” Joy asked putting on her fine black apron.
“Well, the convention is in town so I’m sure we’ll get slammed a bit later. You never really know anymore,” Cindy said as she gathered her notepad and tested her pen.
Joy had met Cindy when she first started working at Chez Moerae, a once beautiful five star hotel along the boardwalk in Ocean City. After the collapse, the hotel redefined itself, becoming a resort for those looking for the luxuries of the past. A speakeasy of sorts, the Chez Moerae had become known for its gambling, girls, and electricity drawing important people in from all across the region. This hotel was one of the few on the East Coast that had restored power. Using arrays of wind turbines and solar panels, the hotel could store enough power during the day to play into the night.
Joy had taken a job as a cocktail waitress and spent six nights a week working at the hotel. She became friends with Cindy during their time working the gambling floor as politicians, businessmen, and other wealthy people gambled their money away. Ocean City had become an important location for the politically connected because it was located so close to the country’s new capital in Delaware, named Dover.
“Hey, what are you doing after your shift? A couple of us are going to have a bonfire out on the beach. You want to come along?” Cindy said as she stood to begin her shift.
Joy looked at her attractive friend with short blond hair and said, “That sounds fun
. We’ll see. I’ve had a hard week, working four twelve hour shifts in a row. Tonight I might be spent and ready for bed,” Joy said as she rubbed her foot before putting her heels on for the night.
“I hear
ya. Well if you’re up for it, we’ll be out back. Just come out. We’d love to have ya,” Cindy offered as she tugged on her bra and straitened her low cut blouse in the mirror. “Here we go.”
Cindy walked out the door and began her shift. With the sound of music and the smell of tobacco pushing through the door, Joy looked in the mirror and summoned the strength to push on.
Years earlier, when the electro-magnetic pulse blazed across the skies of America, the city of Washington DC struggled deeply.
“Isaac, where’s your mother?” Mr. Howard screamed as he crashed through the front doo
r. Sweating and panting for air after running the fourteen miles home from his office, he scrambled until he found Isaac.
“Something’s happened. W
e’ve got to go. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Where’s your mother?” he shouted again with an urgency Isaac had never heard from his father.
“She’s across the street talking to neighbors. Dad
, what happened? What were those lights in the sky?” Isaac asked with fear in his eyes.
“Son, I need you to pay close
attention. Go get our backpacks – the ones we use for camping. Get some warm clothing packed for each of us and plenty of socks. Save room in each backpack for food. We’ll need only the essentials. Grab several cans of tuna, a couple bags of rice, and any dried beans we may have in the cupboard… oh, and salt and oil. Then pack our sleeping bags. We’re going to need them,” Mr. Howard commanded as he walked to the door. “And son, grab my hunting knife too.”
Isaac quickly packed the items his father requested, adding a few medical supplies and flares. He also packed an emergency radio he was given for his birthday last year. It was one of those radios with a hand crank on the side to generate power. The last item Isaac retrieved was his father’s large hunting knife. Just the appearance of its highly polished blade emphasized the danger of what had occurred earlier that day. Isaac ran back to the kitchen where his mother and father where consumed in a panicked conversation.
“Things are going to fall apart quickly. If it was an actual EMP, the city will be dark for years. We have to leave now before the public realizes what has happened,” Isaac’s father said to his mother. “We have to go to the cabin up in Smyrna. We can’t stay here right now.”
“Dad, how we
gonna get there? The cabin is almost a hundred miles from here,” Isaac complained.
“We’re going to head out now
on bikes. By nightfall we should cross the Chesapeake Bay where we can then lie low in Chester for the night. I think we can then make it to the cabin by tomorrow night, but we have to go now,” the silver haired man explained with deep concern in his eyes. “Isaac, go get the bikes ready. Lori… Lori my love, I don’t want you to worry. Everything is going to be fine. We just need to get out of town for a couple weeks. Grab anything else you think we might need.”
Mr. Howard, Lori and Isaac rode through the streets of Washington
, DC as quickly as they could. Avoiding the abandoned cars that filled the interstate, the three pedaled with speed and determination. People were wandering the streets trying to call loved ones, completely lost without their technology. In the distance, Isaac saw an airliner laying in a neighborhood supported by a crushed apartment building. Billows of black smoke flowed into the sky as angry red flames consumed everything around it. Despite the fact that Isaac had never witnessed such an awful scene, the thing he found most odd was the lack of help. There were no firemen, no rescuers, and no heroes to be found. Only crumpled steel, pungent fumes, and uncontrolled fire remained.
They reached the Chesapeake just before nightfall and entered onto the great steel structure. By this time
, the sun was beginning to fall below the burning horizon as the people of Washington, DC scrambled in fear. The bicyclists paused on the bridge to look out on their city with tears in their eyes and despair in their gut.
Mr. Howard cleared the heavy lump from his throat and whispered to himself, “The benefits of innovation are great, but look at the cost. With a ravenous appetite, progress has disconnected us from what’s real.”
The infrastructure and technology that offered security, also created dependency. Once it was gone, the structures withered quickly. Many politicians were stranded in a community they didn’t understand. Unable to flee, they had to face the people they served. They retreated into their gated communities as the majority of the population began to starve. When the government structures and civil authority failed to respond, the people became savage.
One
warm spring day six months after the missiles flew, angry mobs stormed the wealthy communities around Washington, DC. Elite politicians and business leaders were helpless as their families were torn from their homes and dragged out into the streets. The history books will never tell the stories of the violence that day. The streets ran red as the hungry masses found their justice.
For the next three months
, the fires burned in Washington as man became hardened by death and despair. Men turned on each other, while women and children scurried to hide from the hopelessness and anger of survival. Without food and water, whole communities shuddered in darkness. Many tried to migrate and flee like refugees, only to starve along the way. Since every city was experiencing the same story, there was nowhere to go. Then in masses, people began to give up. Suicides became common as the winter freeze set in. Washington, DC fell, not from foreign invaders but from a disconnected and hopeless population.
The heavy steel doors swung open as Joy walked onto the main gambling floor. Like a carnival the large room echoed with excitement. The sounds of slot machines paying out and endl
ess rainbows of blinking lights hypnotized the gamblers. Impeccably dressed men sat along poker tables with women half their age hanging off their shoulders. These men were the very ones determined to rebuild America back to its former glory.
“I’ll take a gin and grapefruit,” a sharp dressed man said to Joy in passing. “And make it quick.”
Joy, with a genuine smile, quickly dispersed the spirits to the man. “That will be six house credits please,” she responded kindly.
The man signed the tiny slip and patted J
oy on the butt. “Thanks sweetie. Keep ‘em coming, and I’ll make sure to take care of you,” the man said winking at Joy.
Joy smiled and responded,
“Sure sugar, whatever you need.” She moved among the crowds of important people playing her part.
As the night wound down
, Joy felt the exhaustion in her bones set in. Despite the fact that she was spent physically, she still made her way out to the bonfire on the beach. From a distance, her beautiful friend Cindy noticed her in the dark.
“Joy, you came! I’m so glad you
are here,” Cindy exclaimed loud enough for the entire group to take notice.
Feeling embarrassed, Joy quickly sat down in the sand while saying, “I should be in bed but thought I’d come out for just a bit.”
“I’m so glad you did. We never get to hang out away from work. Do you know everyone?” Cindy said as she introduced Joy to the people around the fire.
“Hey Joy, my name is Allen. We were just talking about the convention and what’s going on up in Dover,” the blond haired boy in his late twenties explained.
“Yeah, it seems they’re finally going to get things up and running again,” another guy around the fire added.
“Now
Joy, you used to live out west. Seattle right? How are things on the West Coast?” Cindy inquired eager to hear how the rest of the country was doing.
“Well,
it’s hard everywhere. Seattle was no exception. We had the fishermen who kept things going with plenty to eat, but when the snow came, we all struggled to stay warm. The city actually allowed people to get permits to clear trees from the national forests. After that first winter, we learned our lesson and had plenty of firewood around,” Joy explained.
Ever since Joy arrived in Ocean City, she had kept her time in New Providence a secret. Not really sure why she had left New Providence out of her history, she continued to hide that part of her life.
“So I hear the conservative movement is sweeping the polls,” another older man continued. “They’re looking to get manufacturing back up and running to build new EMP resistant electronics.”
Allen lean
ed back in the sand and added, “Yeah, but have you heard any of the speeches? Last time they were in town, I caught that one guy’s speech. What’s his name? He’s the guy with that Greek name. Anyway, he was going on and on about our national identity and how global powers have acted against us. It sounded like he wanted to start a war or something.”
Joy carefully sat forward
and quietly added, “Mr. Dranias. Sariel Dranias is his name.”
“Yea
h, that guy. He’s promising all kinds of stuff. He’s talking about rebuilding the economy, securing oil supplies, and even reconnecting the internet. It sounds good, but how’s all that going to happen?” Allen continued.
“We should get that stuff back. We also need to get whoever triggered t
hat EMP years ago. I heard the Conservative Party thinks that China was responsible. I’d sign up for a little revenge. Look what they did to us,” Cindy said clearly repeating something she had heard somewhere else.
Joy sat and listened as the debate raged on, stirring deep emotions in each member of the gathering.
As time passed, Joy settled into Ocean City. Having Cindy around certainly helped with the transition. Cindy was well liked by everyone, especially the guys. She was very flirtatious with every guy she met, and her tight, curvy body and short blond hair didn’t hurt any. Cindy always seemed to work the same schedule as Joy so they worked the same stations. More importantly, they shared their time off together. Even though Joy and Cindy quickly became close friends, Joy could never bring herself to share her story of her time in New Providence. That chapter would forever remain closed. Over the next several weeks, Cindy took Joy under her wings and helped her settle right into her new town and her job at Chez Moerae.
“H
ello Deloris, I need more champagne and eight shots of gin. It’s a mad house out here tonight. Why’s it so busy?” Joy asked as she emptied the delicate glasses from her tray.
The older bartender looked up from her mountain of empty glasses and said, “There’s a political
convention in town this weekend. Animals I tell you. You’d never think these are the men who are building our future. We’ve already gone through eighteen cases of champagne.”
“Is everyone here for the convention?” Joy asked as she restocked with glasses of the bubbly liquid and half full lowball glasses ready for mixers.
“Yup, all three parties; Conservatives, Socialists, and Libertarians… oh my,” Deloris said flashing a rare smile on her hardened face.
Joy carefully returned to the floor, avoiding the drunken men of authority. It was difficult to see who was
with what party because everyone was acting like degenerates. As Joy passed by one of the poker tables, she stopped to offer a drink to an older dashing man. She seemed drawn to his silver white hair and fatherly demeanor. He had a large group congregated around him as he played his hand.