The Gate 2: 13 Tales of Isolation and Despair

THE ONE THAT MATTERS Bonus Story by Robert J. Duperre

Ash covered the landscape like cold, dead snow. Small lumps scattered throughout the yard, buried in the piles of blowing dust. They might have been objects forgotten during the rush to beat the easterly wind, the old feed buckets, or perhaps the remains of the chickens those buckets used to nourish. A cold wind blew, revealing a blackened joint. It might have been the elbow or knee of some poor soul who’d come in search of help; help they obviously no longer needed.

Guido grunted and turned away. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. He continued around the old farmhouse, back creaking, lungs wheezing. Placing a hand on the back porch’s stoop, he rested a moment. His eyes looked skyward. Dark clouds still loomed ominous overhead. They billowed deep and low, yet seemed to stretch for miles into the atmosphere. Water fell on the shield of his gas mask. He whisked the drops away with a wipe of his gloved hand, leaving trails of black soot. Another gust of wind caught him unawares, and he shivered at its biting cold.

Turning back to the task at hand, Guido circled his house until he found what he was looking for—a thick, curved metal construction that jutted from the foundation. He dipped beneath its lip, knelt in the mounds of wet, gray powder, and took a large brush from his belt. Originally used to clean the horses’ hides, it had gained a new purpose, much like everything else since the eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera. He swept the bristles from side to side against the grate beneath the steel casing, clearing ash from the gaps in the filter. It was tough work, and his back ached with each stroke, but Guido Malfi was nothing if not a diligent man. Before long, he’d cleared the filter as best he was able. In another three days he’d have to come out again, but that was still three days he could spend inside, warmed under the cover of many blankets. Three days that he could spend with Her.

Guido slid the lock through its catch after he closed the bunker’s overhead door. The sound of metal scratching against metal echoed through the small entryway, like fingernails over a chalkboard. He winced, waiting for the reverberations to cease. When they did, he moved to the second door and slid it open.

She was waiting for him. She sat on the couch, still wearing the Bratz pajamas she’d had on when she first arrived. Her brown hair was clumped and ratty, but to him, in the dim yellow light, it looked silky and beautiful. Her eyes lifted. She recoiled for a split second and then smiled. Her teeth were crooked, in bad need of braces she would never get.

He slid the gas mask from his head and took a deep breath. His lungs rattled, but that was okay. He’d lived with worse than that before.

The room was small, barely ten feet by ten, entombed by concrete walls four feet deep. This was Guido’s pride and joy—a bomb shelter he’d constructed over the last twenty years, a bomb shelter folks assured him he’d never need. He chuckled. So much for them.

He’d stocked the cubby beneath the shelter with enough canned goods and water to last two years, though the girl had thrown off his initial estimations. Grabbing a flashlight, he lifted the hatch and looked inside. The gas generator that powered the lights and the air filter chugged along below the earth, its exhaust piped out to the surrounding woods. He smiled upon hearing its guttural purr. Snatching a couple cans of peaches from a shelf, he shut the hatchway and turned.

“Do you want some food, Alyssa?” he asked.

The little girl nodded.

“Yes please, Mr. Malfi,” she replied.

They sat down to eat.

“Tell me one of your stories,” said Alyssa. She picked up a syrupy peach with her bare hand and plunked it in her mouth.

Guido stroked his white beard. “Hm. Let’s see. I told you about the Kennedy assassination, right?”

She nodded.

“How about G.W. and his plan to dominate the world economy by crashing planes into a couple buildings?”

Again, she nodded.

“How about the moon? Have I talked about that?”

“No,” she said with a shake of the head. “Tell me that one.”

“Okay. Well, it happened a long time ago, when I was a young’n in college. We and the Ruskies were always at each other’s throats, trying to beat each other at everything, as if that would help distract us from knowing one side or the other would soon lose patience and launch the first nuke. One of the meanest competitions was this ‘race to space’ thing. Whoever landed on the moon would get some sort of bragging rights, take first place in this pissing contest we had going. So one day, we did it. We landed on the moon. The whole world stood up and cheered for us, as if we’d accomplished something. But here’s the thing, Alyssa. We never did reach the moon. It was all a ruse. You know what a film studio is?”

She listened intently as he spoke, her chin resting on her fists. She stared at him with those wide eyes of hers, and he felt his heart melting. This little girl was everything to him, had been since the day she came running into his yard screaming while sirens blared in the background. The announcement had just come over the airways, and everyone was in a panic. Vandals tore through every corner of Mercy Hills, Connecticut, his hometown. The little girl had looked so scared, so on edge, when she arrived at the doorstep of his farmhouse while he was outside sealing the shelter from the rain of ash soon to come. At first he thought to ignore her, to turn her away like he had the Letts family when they came calling. He hesitated, though, and when he looked in those large, innocent eyes, he remembered the dreams of his youth, the love of his family. The family she’d most certainly lost in the chaos of a crumbling society.

So he’d brought her in. He’d saved her, and that memory filled him with pride. Daughter, he thought. She is my daughter now. Or granddaughter, at least.

When he finished his story, he smiled. They said their goodnights, climbed into their cots on either side of the room, turned off the lights, and fell asleep.

A sound awoke him. It was like static, or baseball cards fastened to the spokes of a bicycle. He sat up, his tired muscles aching, and searched for the pull chord in the dark. He found it dangling above him and yanked. The overhead light clicked on. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

Alyssa was already awake. She sat on her cot, knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes, always wide, were even more so now. The poor girl looked petrified. The strange crackling sounded again.

“What is that?” he asked.

Alyssa clutched her knees tighter and buried her head between them.

Guido swung his legs over the side of the cot. The concrete floor was cold beneath his bare feet. The thought came to mind that there might be people outside, desperate people who would do anything, kill anybody, for a chance at survival. He grabbed his baseball bat from above his reading desk and went to the reinforced door. Pressing his ear to it, he listened. There was nothing at first, and then that fizz came again. Only it wasn’t coming from beyond the door, he realized. It came from inside the shelter.

He glanced at his desk, walked to it, and sat down. Positioned on the side was his ancient radio, still plugged in. His fingers touched the volume and turned it up. At first there was nothing, and then it crackled. It sounded like static, but beneath, he swore he could hear a voice. He twisted the tuning knob—Guido Malfi believed in the solid construction of the old, and this radio hadn’t failed him since his teen years—and slowly, the speaker on the other end broke into startling clarity.

“This is a message for all survivors,” the voice said. It was male, polite, and had a thick accent. “My name is Colonel Martin Doucette. Citizens of the United States, we have arrived. We apologize for the delay, but we’re here now, and we’re here to help. As of this moment, our ships are docked and waiting for your arrival. You will be granted amnesty in France, if you choose to exit your homelands. We will remain docked for a period of one month, and hand out supplies to those that remain behind. The list of safe ports is as follows: Boston Harbor, Groton Harbor, New York Harbor…”

One hundred and twelve days of silence after the eruption, and it was the French, the goddamn French, who came to their aid. He couldn’t help but smile.

They’ve always gotten a bad rap, he thought. They may be a bit testy, but hey, they’re French, so who could blame them? Americans seemed to have forgotten that if it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have a country to call home in the first place…

He wheeled around, snapped the radio off, and rushed to the aluminum chest that passed for a closet. Throwing it open, he tore through its contents. Clothes flew this way and that.

“What’s going on?” asked Alyssa.

He turned, smiled, and started tossing articles of clothing at her. “These won’t fit, but we’ll make them,” he said.

“We’re leaving?” Her face brightened, almost wistful. He’d never seen her like this before, and it was the most gorgeous expression he’d ever laid eyes on. It was as if the months of isolation had been stripped away, revealing her as she truly was for the first time.

“Yes, Alyssa,” he replied, his heart soaring. “It seems the cavalry finally arrived.”

The cold outside was intense, the worst it’d been in weeks. Guido did his best to ignore it as he walked the first of many miles toward the harbor. Alyssa trudged beside him through the wet, mulched ash as they turned down what had once been Main Street. He didn’t know what time it was, other than a vague sense of daylight. The dark clouds above, the ones that seemed to rush across the sky yet never get anywhere, were thick as ever. It cast an eerie gloom on the world. For a moment, Guido regretted their decision to leave. We were safe in the shelter, he thought. Nothing could touch us there. All he had to do was look down at his miniscule travel companion, see the expectant look in her eyes beneath her mask’s Plexiglas, and those doubts faded.

Before long they reached the center of town. Most of the houses they passed had crumpled beneath the crushing weight of the ash. Windows were broken, leaf-barren trees felled, and cars overturned. Thankfully the ash covered all of these, hiding their atrocities, blanketing them into pale, gray lumps. That was okay by him.

The road signs were long gone, but that didn’t matter. Guido knew where he was going. It was only three miles to the highway. From there, a straight shot on 95 until they hit the connectors that led to Groton. On foot, it might take a few days, but he’d packed plenty of food in the sled he pulled behind him. They could camp out at night, or at least whenever it grew too dark to see. They just had to make sure not to breathe too deeply with their masks off.

They were almost out of the town boundary when they heard a loud whooping sound. Shadows darted in front of him, crossing from one wrecked house to another. More whoops. A rock skittered across the muck-covered pavement in front of them, scattering ash to the wind. Guido placed a hand on Alyssa’s shoulder and pulled her in close.

Figures emerged from the shadows, five of them, hunched and swaying. They circled like a pack of wolves, yipping. Alyssa shivered against his leg.

The figures drew closer, and even in the bleak light he knew they were male, and young. They wore blood-drenched scarves over their faces, the color shocking against the stained gray of their skin. Their eyes danced with madness as they wielded planks of wood with nails driven through them. Guido held Alyssa tight and reached into the cart behind him. He pulled out his trusty Louisville Slugger and held it with one hand, ready to make like Mickey Mantle should the need arise.

“Don’t come any closer!” he warned. His voice echoed inside his mask.

One of the men neared. He pulled the scarf from his face. Blood streamed from his nose and the corners of his mouth. His teeth were brown and rotting. He grinned, and it was sickening. He couldn’t have been anything more than a teenager.

“We got no problems with you,” he said in a gravely voice. “We just want the girl.”

“Step away,” Guido said. He held the bat high above his head like a lumberjack.

“We said you can go, old man,” growled another before lunging forward. Guido lashed out with the bat, barely missing. His old muscles screamed on the backswing. The kid danced back and chortled.

Something hit his leg from behind. It buckled as pain tore into his buttocks. He dropped to one knee. It took all his effort to grab Alyssa before he fell on her. He pulled her against his chest and swung the bat wildly. He felt the wooden shaft connect. Someone howled in pain.

“Asshole!” one of the kids yelled.

Guido held his ground. He rose on his pain-seared leg and twirled around, thrusting the bat forward as he did. He caught sight of the wounded assailant, hunched on the ground, holding his head. He coughed. The remaining four closed in, encircling them. He knew he couldn’t hold them off forever. At his age, it was just a matter of time.

“Listen to me!” Guido shouted. “There was a radio broadcast! The French have arrived! They have ships waiting in Groton, and all we have to do is get there. You don’t have to fight me on this!”

One of the attackers—still wearing his bloody scarf—swung his board. It missed, and that only seemed to make him angrier. “Fucking liar,” he grunted.

“I’m not lying!” bellowed Guido. Alyssa’s head buried further into his chest. He felt her body quiver as she sobbed. Regret filled him. That light, that hope, he’d seen earlier was gone. Anger shook him to the bone.

The one who’d spoken first piped up again, this time in a softer, calmer tone.

“Listen, man. No need to make shit up. We know we don’t got long to go. Just let us have some fun before then, ’kay? C’mon, you’re a man. You understand. Right?”

Guido couldn’t believe the words. He struggled with Alyssa’s weight, his breathing coarse and painful. “You won’t get her,” he whispered. He didn’t think they could hear him beneath his mask. He didn’t care.

With a sudden fury, Guido charged. The surprised kid didn’t move fast enough. The bat struck his head, which snapped sideways, streaming blood like a morbid sprinkler. His body twisted and then lay still as it hit the ground

Alyssa’s weight slowed Guido’s movements as the others attacked with a vengeance. One hit him in the shoulder. He hunched, protecting his precious girl with his own body. Another struck his thigh. He fell over, the pain horrendous. He rolled as to not crush the Alyssa, and then huddled over her. Someone ripped his mask off. Gasping, he inhaled handfuls of wet ash and began to choke. Another blow, this one on his back. He felt the nail punch through his clothes and pierce his flesh. It drove in so deep that when it retreated it felt like it dragged his insides with it.

The world turned hazy. Everything shook.

Keep her safe, his reeling mind insisted. Protect the girl, save the only one that matters.

Blows landed all over his body. Rusty nails drove into him. He grew weaker and weaker by the second. Alyssa clung to him as he fell to the side. He felt his blood leak out through the numerous new holes in his body, soaking his clothes and dribbling down his chin. And still, the girl clutched him.

A savage hovered above, tugging on Alyssa’s hand like a fairy-tale beast. The girl screamed and kicked, not letting go. He tried harder, and that made her kick all the more. Finally he reared back and lifted the board above his head. The nail glinted in the faint light. Guido pulled Alyssa below him and closed his eyes.

A shot cracked the air. Another. Then shouting. They surrounded him, a chorus of chaotic voices. Guido held the girl, wishing he had a womb into which he could stuff her for protection. He was about to die, and even worse, so was she. In the only thing he’d cared about in a long, long time, he’d failed.

But there were no more blows. The shouts ceased, as well as the gunshots. Guido lay still, afraid to move. Alyssa squirmed in his arms. He could hear her breathing inside her mask. It sounded like a freight train.

Hands grabbed his mangled body. They rolled him over. He felt weak, and with blurred vision he watched a man lift Alyssa up. He held her out as if inspecting a sensitive work of art. Beside him was another human form, this one was smaller and holding a rifle. It kicked the motionless body at its feet. Several others walked by, just ghosts in his fogged eyesight. Their voices chattered on.

A shadow blocked out his vision. A man’s face. He wore a bandana over his nose and mouth, blood soaked like the others. The eyes though…blue, kind, and concerned.

“My name’s Jason,” the man said. “We’re friendly. Who were those kids?”

“Gone wild,” Guido said, his voice rough and weak. “And hungry…hungry for things they shouldn’t, they shouldn’t…”

Jason glanced over at Alyssa and then nodded to show he understood.

“She’s all right now?” he asked, unable to look for himself.

“She is,” Jason said. “She’s with my daughter, Melissa.”

Guido tried to nod, but didn’t have the energy.

“Did you hear the announcement?” he heard a young girl ask, most likely Melissa.

Alyssa responded, still quivering but on the edge of excitement. “We did.”

“They’ve come!” said the girl between coughs. “We’ll be safe and warm!”

Guido felt a bit of gratitude as Jason lifted his head so he could see her better.

“We’ll take care of her for you,” he whispered. “What’s her name?”

“Alyssa,” Guido coughed. “My granddaughter.”

Contented, he leaned his head back, smiled, and let the darkness take him.

The One That Matters originally appeared in the best-selling anthology, A Land of Ash, edited by David Dalglish.