The Canyon: A Short Story (Voices of the Apocalypse Series Book 1) (2 page)

Lillian runs toward the small building, with Rags bobbing up and down in the backpack. She pries open the door with her knife and sneaks inside. After a few minutes, she waves me over, and I step into the dark room. Lillian shines her flashlight toward an opening in the ground.
 

“A staircase?” I say.

“We hit the jackpot!” She heads down the steps. “Come look.”

We enter a bunker and she shines the light around the space. I’m blown away by what I’m witnessing. It seems like an illusion, or a mirage. We’re standing inside an underground living quarters that has a full kitchen, sitting area, bedroom, and bathroom. There’s enough food to last many years.
 

“We could stay here, couldn’t we?” Lillian asks.
 

“No, honey, we can’t. We already have plan.”
 

“But this place has everything we need. And we won’t have to go to the woods with a bunch of strangers. We’ll be safe from the demolitions.”
 

“It’s better if we’re with other people, sweetie. The demolitions won’t be a one-time deal. They’re going to torch every city and town until there’s nothing left. It’s going to have long-term side effects. We’ll need to be with people so we can join forces and eventually fight back. We’ll be a part of a revolution; the ones who survived the Repatterning.”
 

These are words I never imagined I’d be saying to my fifteen-year-old daughter. Lillian just nods and wipes a tear off her cheek. We refocus, and without any further discussion, we start gathering food.

###

Back at the house, we divide our supplies into piles. One pile is what we’ll bring with us on our journey, and the other is what we’ll use to barter for more supplies and firearms. We’ll need enough to get two guns and some ammo. I clean up my chin, and we sit down at the dining room table for our final meal in our home. Lillian uses our propane camping stove to heat up the packets of fettuccine Alfredo that we found in the bunker. That was always her favorite meal. We dip our crackers into the rich creamy sauce and eat until our stomachs are full. Lillian gives Rags a bowl of beef Stroganoff, which she laps up. I open up two packets of chocolate pudding and we sit on the deck, looking up at the stars and eating spoonfuls of velvety chocolate. Neither of us admits it, but it’s most likely our last decent meal for a while.
 

I stand up and stretch. “We’ll take a quick nap and head to the surplus store sometime after midnight. We’ll come back, get a little sleep, and then drive to the Palisades first thing in the morning.”
 

Lillian nods and we go back inside and curl up on the couch next to each other. Rags nestles in her spot against Lillian’s belly.
 

“Mom,” Lillian whispers, tapping my shoulder.

My watch beeps. It’s time to go. We take the suitcases out to the car, and I fill the tank with a gallon of gas. I’m saving the other one for more bartering power. Gasoline is a top commodity. I follow the directions my husband had scribbled down on the back of the list, taking backstreets toward the store. We park on a side street and carry our heavy suitcases down the desolate alley. We stop a few times to rest our arms and wait for Rags to pee. She’s marking every weed coming up from the gravel. By the time we reach the surplus store, we’re drenched and exhausted. I do the secret knock and we wait. My heartbeat thumps triple time in my ears. The whole scene is surreal, but right in line with the last six months.

After a few minutes, the door opens and a large man––who I assume is Joe Darkly––invites us to enter. We struggle down a narrow stairwell, with our suitcases and the gas can bumping against the railing. At the bottom is a cellar that’s lit up by a few lanterns. Lillian’s eyes widen as she takes in the rows of firearms. Trepidation shadows over her face.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s for our protection,” I assure her.
 

While she studies a rack of shotguns, I start looking for something more portable. I pick up a Colt Defender, a small semi-automatic 9mm. Joe nods with approval and shows me another gun, saying it’ll be good to have two options. The second gun is a Ruger revolver, which he assures me will be a good backup. I open our suitcases and set out the items we’re willing to barter, along with the gallon of gas. Joe throws in two heavy-duty backpacks, saying the suitcases are useless. He helps us transfer over only the essential items. He sets Lillian’s Bible off to the side, but she tucks it into her coat pocket. I’m not going to argue with her about bringing her faith. Lord knows we’re going to need it out there in the wilderness.

Joe secures our backpacks and shows us how to quickly access our guns if we run into trouble. He offers me a hand-drawn map with directions to the Temescal Canyon campsite.
 

“Avoid Sunset and PCH. Barricades are up.” He points to the map. “Park the car at the top of this street and walk to the address. Cut through the backyard and go through the bushes. You’ll find the entrance to the woods. The campsite is located a few miles up the trail. Whistle three times when you get to the top of the slope. Someone will meet you and take you to the campsite.”

We shake hands with Joe and leave the surplus store lighter and much more equipped to handle the trek.

At the house, we get in a few more hours of sleep before we head out on what I’m now calling our extended camping trip. Before we leave, I shove a stack of journals into Lillian’s backpack. I hold my daughter’s face, looking deep into her tired eyes. “No matter what happens out there, promise me that you’ll write down everything–from the initial phases of the Repatterning, all the way through until you’re an old lady and your fingers are riddled with arthritis. I want you to record every detail so future generations will know what happened. So they will know what to look out for. Your journals might end up being the only records to account for what happened. Do you understand?”

Lillian looks up at me and smiles with confidence. “I promise to write down every single thing.”

We drive through the empty neighborhood in silence, whispering goodbye to our old life. I follow the map and park at the top of the street near the address written down. Once the sun goes down it’s dark enough to start our journey toward Temescal Canyon. We locate the house on the map and cut through the backyard toward the bushes. Lillian and I push our way through to the other side and find the trail. Rags starts peeing on everything, leaving behind her scent.

“It’s a few miles to the first checkpoint,” I say. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lillian pats my backpack and we head up the slope.

As we trudge up the hill, with only my tiny flashlight illuminating the dirt path, I’m overcome with a strength I can’t call my own. Something far greater is providing the courage to propel up the mountain. Maybe it’s a combination of faith and my motherly instinct to keep my only remaining child alive. Lillian follows closely behind, and I’m so proud of her determination. I’m filled with an overwhelming assurance that she’ll be able to handle whatever lies ahead. My daughter is a survivor. I can rest in peace, knowing I gave her this gift.
 

###

After the grueling three-mile hike, we reach the top and I whistle three times. We wait in the shadows, until a flash of light strikes our eyes, blinding us.

“Joe sent us,” I call out toward the light.
 

A silhouette of a man steps closer toward us. “Mary and Lillian?”
 

“That’s us,” Lillian answers.

The man aims his flashlight toward the dirt, and I can see again. He smiles warmly and extends his hand. “I’m John. Good to have you on board. Let’s get to camp. We’re just a few hundred yards away.”

We follow John down a steep hill toward a campfire at the bottom. He introduces us to the group of six other people. Lillian doesn’t waste a second finding a spot next to a tree. She sets out her sleeping bag and gets inside it with Rags. I stand next to the fire with the other adults, and John hands me a hot cup of coffee.
 

I’m blown away by the kindness of these strangers. “Thanks,” I say, trying not to cry.
 

Part of me is so relieved to be here, but another part of me is terrified. I think back to that underground bunker in our neighbor’s yard. I wonder if we should’ve just stayed there. I know it’s only fear trying to creep its way into my thoughts. We need to band together with people like us. The bunker would’ve been safe, but not for long.

“You’re probably wondering why on earth you’re standing in the woods with a bunch of strangers. Trust me; we all feel the same way. Seems crazy to run off to the woods,” John says.

“It seems crazier to go to one of those emergency camps. I’m guessing we have a much higher survival rate. I don’t trust the ECCs for a second.”

“That’s because you’re a smart woman. The fact that you made it here with your daughter shows you’re a survivor. And a fighter. It’s going to be a tough road ahead, but if we stick together, we can eventually overcome these bastards. Justice will prevail. We might not see it in our time, but our future generations will have a chance.”
 

John’s voice is so powerful; I catch myself nodding. Though I have no idea what the future holds, I feel like anything is possible. “How long will we stay in the canyon?” I ask.
 

John sips his coffee. “We’re not staying here.”
 

I’m shocked by this information and rocketed back into a state of fear. “Where are we going?”
 

“North. Eventually we’re going to start over. Rebuild our communities and create our own group to fight the elites. But first, we’re going to work on one of their plantations.”

I’m not sure I’m hearing him correctly. “Did you just say
plantation
?”

“For now, the elites need the plantation to keep the food supply going until they complete the Los Angeles City Center. They’re using anyone who isn’t going to the ECCs and putting them to work as slaves. It’s not ideal, but it will serve a purpose.”

I stare into the flames, wondering why John would think becoming slaves would be a good thing. I’m starting to question my decision about coming to the canyon. “What purpose? I don’t understand. Maybe I’m missing something, but why in God’s good name would we work for the elites? If we wanted to do that, why not just turn ourselves in at the ECCs?”
 

“The emergency camps are death traps, you know that. Our plan works on two levels. While we’re working on the plantations, we can infiltrate the system and gather intelligence. At the same time, we’ll learn how to farm and start storing seeds, equipment, and livestock. When we have enough, we’ll escape. We can start building our own free community. But it will be slow and strategic process.”

John’s plan sounds legit, but I’m struggling. “How will we get off the plantation? I recall a time in our history when that wasn’t so easy.”

“We’ll be gathering everything we need to break out: weapons, tools, and whatever else we can use. We have a headquarters close by with someone stationed there, who will be our connection to the outside world.” John puts his arm around my shoulder and gives me a hearty squeeze. “It’s our best option, Mary.”

I don’t know this man, or any of the other faces staring at me in the glow of the fire, but for some reason I trust him.

###

In the morning, Lillian and Rags join the group at the campfire. I hold back a chuckle, watching Lillian take her first sip of coffee and pretending to be unfazed. My stoic little survivor. She’s talking to John’s son, Aaron. I’m grateful there’s someone close to her in age. They take Rags for a walk, while I stay by the fire, praying for continued strength.
 

Before we leave for the next leg of our journey, John calls everyone over.

“We’ve lost much. We’ve made huge sacrifices.” He’s right about that. Everyone nods, tears in their eyes. We’ll never forget. “And there will be more ahead. Many tests to endure. While many have given up faith, this group is still alive. That must be for a reason. We must stick together to fulfill this calling. Fight against this corruption and restore humanity. They may have taken our loved ones, our property and our material belongings, but they can never take away our faith. That’s how we’ll win this battle. Everyone, please bow your heads. Father, we ask that you watch over us and guide us on this journey. We look to you for comfort and trust, to be shown the way even when it looks like all paths are closed. Amen.”

###

Along the hike, I stick with John and stay out of Lillian’s way, so she can talk her new friend, Aaron. It’s the first time I’ve seen her happy in almost a year. I listen to the others share stories about what they lost in the Repatterning. I get a better understanding about the elites’ rollout plan for their sickening New Agenda. Anger buries deep in the pit of my soul hearing about their plan to wipe out the population and start over by breeding new and improved humans inside various city centers across the country. The elites want to build a robot society to control for their own means.
 

The air is getting heavy with smoke, and I tie a scarf around my face and put on my sunglasses to keep out the ash. I turn around to see Los Angeles on fire. If anyone stayed behind, they’re gone now. I stand on the mountain peak, watching the entire city getting swallowed by flames. I think about all of the innocent lives lost, which makes me more disgusted by the elites. What gave them the right to destroy everything? And why didn’t we stop them before it got to this point?
 

John taps my shoulder. “Don’t look back, Mary. We gotta keep moving forward now.”
 

And that’s what we do. We trek through the woods until we reach a red bus parked between the trees. The side of the bus reads, “Hollywood Tours.” We climb inside and sit down just like the tourist used to do; only this time nobody is smiling or taking photos. We’re quiet. John drives the bus down a bumpy trail; the branches scrape the sides and poke at us through the open windows. After a short drive, he turns down another trail into the thickest part of the woods.