James Van Pelt - Summer of the Apocalypse

Eric wished he could enjoy the warm August sun that penetrated deep into his old muscles, but he could hear Dodge and Rabbit talking in front of his house, and he knew the two children came to hear about the Gone Times. Almost no one else visitedthey didnt care to listen to his storiesbut the children liked to talk about the old days, and their company was appreciated. Lately hed been restive. He enjoyed sunsets less. He took longer and longer walks, always toward the foothills, sometimes getting home after nightfall. People in the village didnt do this. Fear of wild animals kept them indoors after dark, but Eric couldnt shake the habit and the notion that the night was safe for man. He felt the urge to travel again, to see new places one more time before illness, or just plain age, forced him to stay home. This afternoon, though, stretched out on a hammock, with the late spring sun so pleasant, a breeze blowing cool off the mountains and a glass of pungent herb tea beside him, hed rather drift into a doze.

Are you sleeping, Grandfather? Dodge, a tall, skinny ten-year-old with dark hair neatly cut into bangs above his eyebrows, pushed the creaky gate open. Rabbit, his sullen twelve-year-old friend, whose face bore heavy scars from wild dog bites suffered when he was five, followed.

Why bother an old man? said Eric. He pointed at the pitcher and the boys poured themselves tea.

Dont you have productive things to do? Maybe you could pull weeds for me. Dodge emptied his drink with one gulp. Rabbit retreated to the shade of the grape vines and sat cross-legged on the grass. His broad shoulders and thick chest hinted at the bulk of the man he might become. You tell him, said Rabbit.

What? Eric swung his feet off the hammock and sat up. His back twinged and he grimaced. Beyond the fence that encircled his vegetable garden, the dusty road was empty all the way to the cottonwoods that lined the river. Most people napped during the heat. Later, when the sun moved closer to the mountains, horse drawn carts would pass occasionally, but generally life in Littleton was slow in August. People tended their gardens. Field workers walked past his house at dusk. Some would wave, but most ignored him. He was just a crotchety old man who not only wouldnt let go of the Gone Times, but who also upset the town meetings with his criticisms.

What news do you have? Eric asked.

Dodge said, Dad wants to see you. Dont tell him I come out here all the time, okay? Dad says, Family gatherings are bad enough. I dont need you coming home with his garbage. But I think hes stupid. Eric sighed. This was a common gambit of Dodges, to not answer questions. It was a family trait. Your father isnt stupid. When youre thirty, youll wish you listened to him more now. Dodge looked longingly at the pitcher. Eric nodded and the boy filled his glass again. You dont have a dad to make you do chores or go to school. Look for cloth today, Dodge, he says, or Find some tools for trade. Youd think that he doesnt want me to have any fun. Besides, there isnt anything to find here anymore. All the easy pickings are gone. Not like when you were a kid. We brought something for you, though. Dodge dug into his backpack and removed a thick book. He handed it to Eric. I know you dont have this one.

Eric turned the volume over. It was an anthology called Major American Authors. He opened the cover. The pages were slightly wrinkled, as if the book had been exposed to moist air at one time, but other than that, it seemed in good shape. He read the ending lines of a quote from Nathaniel Ames Almanac, 1758. O ye unborn inhabitants of America! Should this page escape its destined conflagration at the years end, and these alphabetical letters remain legible when your eyes behold the sun after he has rolled the seasons round for two or three centuries more, you will know that in Anno Domini, 1758, we dreamed of your times.

I doubt it, Eric thought.

He frowned. You shouldnt be scavenging. Thats work for men who know what theyre doing. Dodge said, We can get places they cant. Theyre too big. Rabbit found the case of knives last year. The glass wasnt even broken on the front. We dont touch anything were not supposed to, Were not kids, you know.

The case of knives had been big news the summer before. Eric lifted it as part of an argument to the city council. When was the lust time someone got good stuff?

What do you think, Rabbit? said Dodge. Rabbit looked into his tea. His hair hung over his eyes. The scars puckered the right side of his face, and he seldom met Erics gaze even though hed been coming to his house for years.

Rabbit tilted his head back and stared into the vines. Eric noticed he kept the good side of his face turned toward them. He said, The knives, I guess. Camaros Mom found some canned goods last week, but they were all bad. No labels and swelled up. Doc Renke says we shouldnt eat anything from cans anyway, swelled or not.

Eric laughed silently at the mention of Camaro. Lots of children born in the last twenty years or so had been named after automobiles. There was Dodge, of course, and Rabbit, but he also knew a red-headed girl named Blazer, a pair of twins, Plymouth and Neon, and the millers son, Mercedes. None of these children had ever seen a working automobile. The last one Eric remembered was a Volkswagon Bug that drove by his house twenty-five years ago. That was when the Bowles Avenue bridge repair still stood. The cars were gone, but the names lived on.

Weve been hunting for treasure troves, Dodge said to Eric. There are basements with guns and knives and tools on the other side of the river, if you know where to look. Rabbit laughed derisively. Thats a lot of bunk. He pushed the hair off his forehead. If you believe that, then you must think well find good lectronics or a car thatll start. Dodge smiled. Who knows whats on the other side of the river? Dad told me just yesterday that lots of stuff must still be out there. But hunting around here is a waste. Just a chore.

You boys been crossing?

They looked at each other guiltily. Finally Dodge said, We know a shallow place we can walk through. But were real careful and we watch out for each other all the time. You wont say anything will you? Eric leaned back in his hammock. He guessed that it had been eight or nine years since he had crossed the river. A rumor that an undiscovered sporting goods warehouse existed in the ruins of downtown Denver drew him and four others, but after a week of poking though rubble and climbing down into treacherous mazes of steel, brick, rotten wood and sheetrock, theyd given up. All of the street signs were gone, many of the streets impassable, and the fifty-year-old map they were using had gotten wet early in the trip and was unreadable. A skunk bit Herbie when he reached blindly into its den, and rabies killed him by the end of the summer. All in all, it had been a useless effort. Still, he remembered when Denver was a treasure trove, when he could walk onto any car lot, break into the office to find keys, and drive away with anything he wanted.

He looked the boys over carefully. The book rested heavily in his hands. Ill tell you what. I wont talk about your expeditions, and maybe next time you head out you could show me where you got this. Both boys shook their heads. No way, Grandfather, said Dodge. Dad would whip my butt for sure.

I dont want you crossing the river again by yourselves. Dodge bit his lip and looked down into the bottom of his glass. Okay, he said.

Eric closed the book. I appreciate the gift, but its too dangerous for you. He felt awkward and sad. Hed seldom chastised Dodge, and he didnt know what to say now. The silence weighed heavily on him. Rabbit finally said, Youd better tell him. Dodge brightened. Oh, yeah. Grandma Pao died. Eric turned his head away from them, his eyes stinging. Emotions ran close to the surface for him lately. Age, he figured. Deaths, births, a change of weather, and he misted up. I guess I need to go into town then, he said. You boys want to come?