The problem was when they reset the project they didn’t attach a length of time.
Involuntarily placed into a project called ‘Genesis’ they woke at Marshall Space Center in Redstone Arsenal, Alabama to a barren world. The farther they walked from the base, the worse it grew. More and more vacant and overgrown. As if Marshal was one of the last places remaining.
There were nine out of a hundred that survived the cryo process. The president was one of them and he, last John knew, took an easy way out and rushed back to the lab to be part of decontamination and burned alive.
Dead now.
At least John thought. Of course, John was a writer by trade and his mind kept slipping to the fact that the president went somewhere else because he knew something they didn’t.
The remaining eight divided into three groups, each heading toward their home destination. Malcolm, a brilliant tech man, headed west with the weather woman, Amy. Jason, the preacher went north with party crasher, Nora. John headed east with Meredith, who was a professor, and Grant.
Grant was the youngest, a musician who was scared of a lot of things, but John didn’t listen to him. He chalked it up to Grant’s paranoia. He should have listened. They were attacked by post nuclear war mentally deranged humans, and Grant lost his life.
Rusty, an older survivor who helped them called the savage people Wreckers.
John hoped the others were having better luck finding their families and staying safe. Hoping they all kept true to their word, he and Meredith, after they healed some, would head out to meet them at the Champaign location.
Until he was well enough he humbly accepted Rusty’s invitation to stay at his home.
The single story dwelling was open planned. Walls removed probably to allow an easy flow of the heat from the huge potbelly stove in the center of the room. Draperies served as walls, blocking off the sleeping areas for privacy. The main portion of the simple home had a table, kitchen area, and workbench.
Rusty didn’t show any signs of starvation from the post nuclear and virus ravaged world. He had done quite well, he boasted. At sixty-four, he was strong, fit, and wise. He wasn’t granted access to the walled city known as Salvation so he made the best of his situation.
He told John he lost his wife to the virus on year eight.
Like the normal flu, the virus came annually, wiping out more and more of the population.
His son still carried his baby name of Scooter.
“There never seemed a reason to stop calling him anything else,” Rusty said.
The father son pair lived in a rural community filled with people who didn’t have a reason to travel west. Taking over abandoned homes they used the decades to grow.
Homes were close enough to meet the neighborly need, but far enough from each other to add a sense of privacy and seclusion.
They had drifted backwards living much like the early settlers, or as Rusty put it, “Little House on the Prairie era.”
He didn’t expect John to know what that was.
John did.
If he counted the years in stasis, John was seventy-six years old.
At that moment, he felt it.
Emotionally he was crushed and physically bruised more than he wanted to admit. The ambush by the Wreckers had taken its toll.
He watched Grant die and saw Meredith violently beaten and gang raped. He tried to help. He shot several of the Wreckers, but in the end he lost.
John was impressed and proud of Meredith’s fortitude. She looked horrible, but spoke and moved about naturally. While he himself couldn’t budge an inch without excruciating pain shooting from his legs to his abdomen.
Though he didn’t remember, John was certain by the pain he felt, like Meredith, he had been sodomized.
After waking he was able to speak to Rusty and Meredith, but dozed often. He was unable to keep conscious very long because of his head injury.
Before sundown, Scooter had summoned the local doctor, or medicine woman. She suggested that John not move much for several days and consume liquids that were gentle on his digestive system. She suspected he didn’t suffer internal damage, but his lower digestive tract needed to heal.
By evening he held his breath and bore the pain long enough so he could be moved to the back area of the house.
He dined on the broth of duck soup, fed to him by Meredith.
“You’re too kind,” he said to her.
“You’re my oldest friend in this world.”
“We’ve known each other what?” John smiled. “Thirty years?”
Meredith placed the spoon of broth in his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am so sorry this has happened to you.”
“I’m sorry this happened to you, too.”
“Talk about a rude awakening.”
“We’ll get through this John,” She held out the spoon. “Open up.”
The broth was tasty, perhaps a little salty, but he enjoyed it. “Once I’m well we’ll head out to find the buggy then off to our meeting place. Rusty said the Wreckers don’t see well during the day and I’m guessing even if they found where we hid it, they wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Do you think the others are okay?”
“I hope so.”
“John, we have time before we have to meet the others. We were spared and saved. This world has definitely changed. Are you up to seeing how much?”
“A little post apocalypse sightseeing?” he asked.
Meredith nodded.
“Yes. Aside from my curiosity I think we need to know as much as we can about what happened to this world.” John replied.
Meredith lifted the spoon then dropped it back into the cup.
“What is it?” John asked.
“John… they had a reason to save us. Do you think that reason is no longer valid in this world?”
“They had a grand purpose in mind for us. Things are different now, but I believe we still will serve a grand purpose in this new world,” he said. “We just have to figure out what it is.”
Malcolm Lowe had always been told he was a pup He always looked young. The truth was he had looked thirty years old since he took his driver’s test. The officer giving the exam didn’t believe he was only sixteen. Then after that, Malcolm didn’t age. He never got carded… ever. He just failed to age. Even Nora and the others in the reservation tank of the Genesis project didn’t believe he was pushing forty.
Although Malcolm considered himself a young father it was even more true as he looked upon his oldest son who was pushing fifty.
Despite the physical age difference and appearance, Malcolm still saw Trey as his son.
A son he was grateful to find. It was rather easy. He had one goal and that was to get home. In a world turned upside down, overgrown, and barricaded off, Malcolm’s home was unscathed and kept up. He believed for sure it had new owners. Then again, Malcolm didn’t know how long he had been gone. Just that it had been years.
The only surviving member of his family was his oldest son. He not only maintained the home, but was also a source of production of food for a place called Salvation. A place Malcolm would soon see.
He didn’t want to go. He promised the others he would meet them. But Malcolm was injured en route to his home and the injury caused an infection that wasn’t far from taking his life.
Trey hid the solar buggy in the barn, stating they were only going to Salvation long enough for Malcolm to get well. He didn’t want to lose the buggy and that was a possibility once entering Salvation. He also raced three miles away to the neighboring farm to get the ID card from the farmer who lived there.
Just in case they asked for ID.
Rarely did they do that and if they did, Malcolm hadn’t been cleared. Then again, Trey planned on explaining to them about his father. It was an unbelievable tale, and a miracle.