1st place winner
The Child
- written by Karen Beggs
In that surreal moment when the car skidded off the road, my father’s warning echoed in my ears. I’d laughed it off at the time, teasing him that he was always looking around corners for conspiracies or disasters. Although he’s been dead for fifteen years now, when I saw that terrifying disturbance in the southern sky, that roiling mass of black and purple clouds spinning my way, his words came back to me as clearly as if he were sitting in the passenger seat beside me.
“It will happen. You mark my words, sooner or later. Just make sure you’re ready when it does.”
I engaged four-wheel drive and backed out of the ditch, turned a rapid U-turn, and headed home, fast.
That was several months ago. The sky, still a deep disturbing purple, now was placid as though nothing had happened and this was just its normal way of being.
Now I watched, as I had so many times, as clothes disintegrated, followed a micro-second after by the bodies they contained. Nothing was left except dust and wind mixing together in a frenzied maelstrom of human and air. I felt bile rising in my throat, tasting the bitterness, knowing I couldn’t change the outcome. I had lost count of the times I had replayed this recording, perhaps the last record of humanity, both on the machine and in my mind. I think I suffered more than they had, yet I was physically untouched.
The screen flickered, blurring the images that I had forced myself to view over and over. The generator hacked as though it had a terminal case of bronchitis. The fuel gauge hovered on empty. I shut the generator down, wanting to be in control of this final severing. The motor died with a stuttering cough. Guess I should have stored the spare fuel a bit closer.
Then the child cried.
The wind had blown her in to me last night, coming from nowhere, maybe going there too. Just a small footfall in the dust. I didn’t actually hear her coming, but felt the displacement in the air that another presence makes. I’d scooped her up and brought her in here.
A small island in the middle of rumpled bedclothes, she rubbed her clenched knuckles around grime-rimmed eyes, spreading the rivulets of blackened tears that flowed down her emaciated cheeks. I couldn’t imagine how she had survived. I knelt, and wiped her face with an equally grubby sleeve. She looked at me with ancient eyes that had seen too much.
Here is where I have been living for uncounted weeks; a dug out home into the hill at the back of my property. I’d always wanted an underground home, but instead had lived conventionally, as most people did. Then several years ago I had decided to dig. I couldn’t afford machinery; didn’t want the attention it would bring either. I dug a little most days, in between work, and other obligations on the far side of the hill facing away from neighbours. I thinned out selected fir trees for supports as I dug deeper and wider. At first it seemed an impossible venture, but as time went on, my survival ‘home’ began to take a recognizable shape. Each payday I bought something for my underground endeavour. I bought walling material, flooring too, and preservatives for both. I decided double doors would be smart, and the two small windows were double-glazed against both heat and cold. Mostly it turned out to be deep cold. After I had dealt with damp problems as best as I could, I bought cheap but solid used furniture; a table, a couple of chairs, a double-sized bed, and some shelving to stock with non-perishable foods. I canned and stored my own water. I had candles, matches, and an old wood stove vented through the ceiling at the back wall.
Initially the whole thing was just an adventure, an aging kid playing pioneer. Back in the ‘cold war’ days we’d often talked about the possibility of ‘taking to the woods’, but that had never materialized. The idea must have remained processing, until I decided to make my survival house, now too late to share it with anybody. Even my dog had gone.
Just when I had decided that there was no point in going on alone; just as I had picked up the gun and experimentally grazed the muzzle over my temple, she arrived. The old twelve-gauge stood once more, leaning slightly against the wall, perhaps mocking me for my weakness, or maybe saluting me for my strength.
She didn’t seem to be able to talk. In my ‘before’ life I had worked in education, specializing in non-verbal children. Hopefully that would help me now. I would allow her time, if time was allotted to us.
I held out my hand and she reached out and took it. We walked to the living area. I laid some food out on the table, and unsealed a Mason jar of sterilized water. We ate in a silence that hugged us like a blanket, she forcing food into her mouth as if she had never eaten before.
Next morning I left her sleeping and went outside. I always hoped for something, yet each day brought the same dismal, glacial landscape. The neighbourhood houses had gone, as had my old one. A few shredded stumps had survived, and rocks were laid bare like bones strewn in a desert. Only the unremitting wind broke the disturbing silence. No wonder my gun seemed inviting.
She stayed inside at first, then one morning she indicated that she wanted to go outside. I opened the inner door, shutting it behind us before opening the outer one. The usual drift of icy dust had accumulated on the doorstep. I wondered what the dust was composed of. Maybe Mr. Collinson from down the road, mixed with his herd of Red Angus cows. Maybe my dog.
Dull grey, both in the overcast sky, and the dirty ice-covered ground, spread thickly like an army blanket. She scanned in every direction, then lost interest and went back inside. I stayed out and set off on my daily walk. As usual I came back without seeing a living thing.
Several days went by, then one morning she wouldn’t get out of bed, rolling restlessly, and throwing off her covers. As she flung out a bare arm, I noticed that it was covered in a deep maroon rash. I uncovered her other arm, and the rash was there too, with raised weeping sores. I felt her forehead, which was hot and moist. She tried to open her eyes, but the rash had gummed her eyelids closed. I gently soaked her eyes open with a damp cloth, and placed a cool cloth on her forehead. Although her eyes were now open, she just stared, unseeing. I had a stock of bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a few morphine pills left over from a back injury. None of these seemed useful here. I slipped a little water in her mouth before she turned her head away. I sat and talked to her. The sound of my droning voice seemed to comfort her, and she slept. I slept soundly beside her that night.
When I woke the next morning she had gone. Her side of the bed was cold. I called to her, not knowing her name, knowing she wouldn’t answer. I opened the door to the outside. There in the dust I saw small bare footprints heading out into the frigid grey. I followed them until they disappeared, blown away into nothingness by the incessant wind. I searched as far as I dared, but knew that I would not find her.
So now I am alone again, probably forever, though forever might not be too long. I have two weeks of medication left; something I never thought too much about when I was stockpiling food and survival gear. Maybe soon I won’t have any use for the shot gun after all.
2nd place winner
Don't Take Your Gun to Town
- written by Ken Stengler
In that surreal moment when the car skidded off the road, my father’s warning echoed in my ears, “Don’t
take your gun to town”.
But I did take it. I wanted to show off my new shotgun to my
friend Arnie. Hunting season was only
two weeks away and we were planning a hunting trip. How was I to know that, when I parked at the
convenience store to buy a coffee, a really crazy person would be coming out of
the store as I was entering?
How was I to know that tonight a freak snow storm was on its way? Cause and effect were about to make themselves apparent. The person exiting the store was upset because his girlfriend had tossed him out of their apartment and also their relationship. He had spent the rent money at the casino. Cause and effect. I left the car running because I was only going to be a minute. Of course, the very upset man got into it and drove away with it. Cause and effect.
Now my car and my new shotgun were gone. Darn! And it was starting to snow, really heavy snow. I called Arnie and he arrived within minutes. We decided to drive around to see if we could find my car. Meanwhile at another convenience store in town the car thief, who had quickly discovered my gun, was about to rob the store. Cause and effect. "Don't take your gun to town".
The robbery never happened. I later learned that two customers, local football players, saw the thief with the gun and knocked him flying. He dropped the gun and ran. He got into my car, which was still running, and squealed away. Cause and effect... spending rent money at the casino, taking my gun to town, leaving my car running... and it was about to continue. The snow was quickly accumulating and the speeding thief missed a curve on the road and took out one of the major transformers to the town. Most of the town plunged into darkness, cause and effect... spending the rent money at the casino, taking my gun to town, leaving my car running...
The thief fled. Arnie and I found the car. I was able to drive it but it made strange noises. My gun was gone and I was fed up with the situation, with the cause and effect; taking my gun to town, the town being plunged into darkness. I decided to go home. More cause and effect were about to make themselves apparent. Although I was driving slowly because of the snow and because my car was so damaged, I skidded off the road and into a deep ditch. My father's warning, "Don't take your gun to town", rang in my ears. And the effect was going to be most unpleasant if I now went home.
I hitched to town which was mostly still in darkness because of cause and effect. I had my debit card, had a good balance in the bank because I had worked for several months planting trees and had saved most of it, and decided that leaving town was a good idea. A bus was just pulling into the first convenience store which also doubled as a bus stop. I had just enough time to call Arnie, tell him where my car was, and to ask him to call my parents the next day and tell them that I needed to get away for awhile.
I got on the bus. And I stayed on it until it reached its terminal, and then got onto another, and another. I slept on the bus and ate at bus stations. Cause and effect - spending rent money at the casino, taking my gun to town, the snow and on and on.
I became a skilful traveler. I only traveled with a tooth brush, dental floss and my wallet. When my clothes needed changing, I bought some at thrift stores, and threw the old ones away. I stayed in hostels and often slept on overnight buses.
After a week, I bought a calling card and called Arnie. I asked him to call my parents and tell them I was OK. After a month, I called them myself. They were happy to hear from me. They understood cause and effect and why I needed to get away. I am welcome back whenever I wish. The car was a write-off and my gun has been taken by the police to use as evidence. I have lost all interest in it and hunting.
Now the good part of cause and effect, there is so much... Disneyworld, Wrigley Field, Sears Tower, Mount Rushmore, the Grand Canyon, riding the subway in New York City, learning to speak Spanish in Southern California, a wonderful girlfriend in Tucson... cause and effect.
I have been keeping a journal of my travels and will publish them as adventure books. At the moment I am joining a wheat harvesting crew who are starting to combine in Texas and will continue north as the crops ripen. The money that I earn will allow me to go home for a visit with my parents and my friends. It will also make my bank balance healthy again.
I will continue to travel.
Cause and effect... be careful with decisions, but once made, live with them. They are all situations of learning and adventure.
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