Message-ID: <55721asstr$1177582206@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: o40g2000prh.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: rache <rache696@yahoo.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <1177565446.938475.6470@o40g2000prh.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2007 05:30:56 +0000 (UTC) User-Agent: G2/1.0 X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv:1.8.1.3) Gecko/20070309 Firefox/2.0.0.3,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: o40g2000prh.googlegroups.com; posting-host=203.177.185.177; posting-account=qBK25Q0AAACTpvYY3RGCixMIsuvRRKwm X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 25 Apr 2007 22:30:47 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} The Post-Apocalypse Dream by Rachael Ross (M/F, Slow, No Sex) Lines: 454 Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2007 06:10:06 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/55721> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, RuiJorge The Post-Apocalypse Dream By Rachael Copyright 2007 Rachael Ross all rights reserved Story Codes: M/F, Slow, No Sex The Post-Apocalypse Dream The sun was hot and all around me there was nothing but wheat. Great golden seas of it rolling in the wind. A group of crows wheeled across the sky. It was blue, mostly, but off to the north I could see a line of darkness coming. Early summer in Nebraska, but still springtime up in Canada. It was going to rain and I needed a hole someplace. I nudged the mare with my heels and she bobbed her head a little, ripping off a mouthful of grain and chewing it while we moved, like a little brown and white boat, leaving a wake of bent wheat behind us. I'd had her almost a month and if she'd felt any animosity towards me for killing the guy who'd owned her, Hubcap didn't show it. Maybe she knew he'd had it coming. Maybe if she knew who I was, she'd figure I had it coming too. We stayed clear of roads. They were dangerous and unpredictable and we both knew it. When we came upon one we had to cross, or maybe follow a little ways, Hubcap would stop and whinny and turn her big black eyes to look at me. I'd just shrug and give her a cluck and a kick and apologize later. We didn't do a lot of talking on the roads either. I checked my compass and my map and there was a town just over the next couple hills. Someplace called Stewartville, population small. I glanced over my shoulder and the clouds were closer. I couldn't do with another night in the rain. The first couple had almost killed me, but I hadn't known a whole lot then either. But anytime you get wet and cold it's a bad thing. I remembered when I was a little girl dancing in the rain. "Anybody do that anymore, Hub?" I asked her, but she ignored me. It was a dumb question anyway. There were a few cars, mostly gutted for parts or burned out shells. A couple buildings with windows smashed out. Looked like somebody had torched the gas station, but that wasn't unusual, none of it was. There was a big building that looked like a castle keep, sort of. All stained red brick and chalky mortar with a flat roof. I studied it through my eyeglass, which was just half a pair of binoculars. The other half I'd traded for penicillin and aspirin when I'd really needed those. There was smoke coming from the building, or maybe from just behind it, I couldn't tell. Somebody was there, cooking maybe, or trying to make something, who knows. I'd found a guy in South Dakota who was making glass. He'd always wanted to learn how to do it, he'd told me, and now he finally could. He made the worst glass in the world, but he was happy. He'd given me a little shot glass, yellowish and crooked, when I'd told him I was leaving. We'd been together for five days and a week later I couldn't remember his name. I rode down slowly, approaching across a field overgrown with weeds. There wasn't anything else I could do, really. I wasn't going to sneak in, and I wasn't going around. I needed to trade and rest and talk to somebody. You go two or three weeks without hearing another person's voice and it does things to you. You start talking just to hear some words, to stay in practice, and then you wake up suddenly, finding yourself in the middle of a conversation with nobody at all. It isn't real madness, not yet, but it makes you nervous, you know? I had my rifle unslung; sitting across the saddle so whoever was in there would see it. They wouldn't like me any less for having a gun, and they'd be suspicious if they didn't see one. Everyone had a weapon; most people had two or three. Hub was my only real concern. A horse was valuable, mostly for its meat, but also if you wanted to get someplace. I removed my hat, a wide-brimmed felt fedora damp with sweat, and shook my hair loose, glad for that hot sun momentarily. It would catch the yellow in my hair. I wanted them to know I was a woman and so I was worth more than my horse, maybe. It was what I'd come to trade and I figured they'd know that, whoever it was. I was about a hundred yards away and I hadn't seen anyone, or even heard anything for that matter. Just some magpies up in the air, screeching a little because we were riding through their broken field. I came to the edge of town, where the weeds ended with a little ditch and an oil stained gravel parking lot started. The place used to be a Texaco once, now it was black and twisted. Across the way, some 40 yards and across the main street was the brick building. It was the "Stewartville Armory 1923" according to a bit of masonry above the main doors. They were big wooden doors, banded and charred from the looks of them. There was even a pole for a flag, but there wasn't any flying of course, just some old frayed cord dangling in the breeze. I sat there on Hubcap for 5 minutes or so while they wondered what to do. I didn't imagine Stewartville got very many visitors. Most of the stragglers were dead by now, or had found a community someplace or just made one of their own. I shifted a little, feeling my ass getting sore and Hubcap tore at the grass under the weeds, tearing clumps of dirt and roots out of the soft black earth. One of the big doors opened finally and a man stepped out, shielding his eyes. He was tall, I thought, thin but not skinny. He'd been eating well and that was a good sign. He wore old jeans, faded but not holed or anything and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He walked towards me slowly and I didn't see a weapon, but I had to assume there was somebody marking me, probably through one of the second floor windows. I didn't move a whole lot, content to wait for him and he didn't look back. A lot of people will, when they're nervous or scared, but he didn't. "Howdy." He said and he was 20 feet away, standing with his hands empty at his sides. He had good skin, healthy and already a little tan. Black hair going to grey, mostly on his face though. He didn't have a lot of beard, just a scrappy inch maybe, and it suited him I thought. "Hi." I nodded. "I'm ridin' through." I couldn't say much more than that, asking for something isn't the way it's done generally. And I didn't have anything for trade except me, and he could already see that much. "Kay." He seemed to shrug, or maybe I just imagined it. We didn't speak for half a minute or so, maybe more, and if he wasn't interested I really would have to ride on through. Either that or fight. The birds had settled and there wasn't much more than the occasional sound of the breeze blowing through the weeds, and that wasn't very loud. I moved as if to pull the reins, yanking Hub's head so we could go around, but the man stopped me. "Storm's comin' up." He observed, jerking his head just slightly towards the dark horizon. "Yeah." I looked that way, turning more than just my head. More than I needed to, sitting a bit straighter and trying to show myself off a little. When I looked back he was nodding at me. "Put your horse round back of the armory, there's a little spot, you'll see it." He didn't wait for an answer, he just turned around and I gave him a good head start before urging Hub onto the gravel. The back of the armory was a pleasant surprise and well hidden from anyone approaching the town. There was a largish garden planted and air was thick with the smell of ripening vegetables. There was a row of tomatoes, the plants bound with wire to a section of weathered picket fence, the white paint peeling and littering the ground like snow. The fruit was just starting to show red, and my mouth watered at the sight of them. There were peppers too, small and green, and onions and other plants I couldn't identify. It was a good garden and I knew some people back where I'd come from who would have killed for a tenth of it. There was a shed too, like a small garage with the door missing and inside were a couple sheep and a ram, tied in crudely constructed stalls. A small area was enclosed in chicken wire and there were chickens pecking at the old dry straw that covered the rough dirt floor. A couple barrels of rain water were nearby, old rusty 55 gallon drums with the tops cut off. An empty one had already been set up beneath the gutter of the shed's roof. I found a spot for Hub towards the back left corner and walked him inside, tying his bridle to a support and set to work removing his pack and saddle. "I got hay, if he'll eat it." I heard the man's voice and I turned my head to look at him. "She." I corrected him lightly. "And she'll eat anything." I grunted as I pulled the saddle off Hub's back and dropped it a few feet away, close to the wall. I grabbed the pack and moved it close too, leaning my M-16 within easy reach as I undid the leather straps. I grabbed the little shoebox, tied shut with string, and my clothes, all rolled up and tied as well. "Here." He'd come back dragging a ragged half bale of green and golden hay, still fresh it looked like. "I reckon you'll want to sleep out here tonight, but you don't have to." He was rubbing his chin, like he was trying to remember his manners. I sat there on my heels looking at him. "Outhouse around the corner there and uh, there's water too for washin' yourself up. Drinking water's inside and I got some stew on." "Thanks." I stood up and he looked at me uncertainly. "Okay." He seemed to think better of saying anything more and he turned around, walking through the back door of the armory. I fed and watered Hub, then took care of myself. Hanging my rifle on a handy nail and stripping out of the clothes I'd been wearing for the better part of a week. I washed them first, my trousers and shirt, my panties and socks, even my hat. I set them aside and went to work checking myself for bugs. I used my little mirror, a folding compact I kept in the box with all my other bath stuff, looking around my 5'4" frame carefully. I frowned a little at the weight I'd lost. I used to weigh a hundred and thirty, as I recalled, and I'd thought I was fat. Now I was maybe 105 and my ribs showed beneath my pale skin, my hips too, if I tilted them just so. I had a tan face and arms and neck, down to the tops of my breasts, but that was it. The rest of me looked like a ghost. I washed myself next, not really wondering too much if anyone was watching. I couldn't do anything about it if they were, and I needed a bath. I opened my shoe box and frowned at the little cake of soap. It was wrapped up in big oak leaf that had been green and soft, but now it was yellow and brittle. I washed myself thoroughly, front and back and then my hair. It was a luxury and wasteful, but I needed it. I looked around and found some rhubarb, tearing off a leaf and wrapping my little bit of soap back up. I shaved under my arms for the first time in more than a month, using short slow strokes since the blade was old and dull. I didn't bother with my legs, they'd never needed shaving. I more or less shook myself dry, wiping down my skin and shaking my hands. I bent over scrubbing at my shoulder length hair, trying to comb my fingers through it. I brushed my teeth with a bit of baking soda and brushed my hair with my old hairbrush, frowning and jerking my head against the tangles. By the time I'd finished that I was dry enough, and hopefully worth a little more to whoever lived there. I dressed quickly, putting on the only dry clothes I owned. Heavy socks and a pair of real dungaree trousers and a man's corduroy shirt. They were all in good shape and fit me okay, just a little loose. I fitted my belt through the loops, sliding the leather sheath for my folding Buck knife so it hung over my left front pocket. I packed my shoebox and slung my rifle over my shoulder after checking the safety on. It was just for show now, I was deep in it and I'd been feeling that funny euphoria of adrenalin since I'd crossed the street an hour before. My wet clothes hung over the chicken wire in the shed and I checked Hub quickly, chiding myself a little for not doing that first. Her shoes were okay, that was the good thing about traveling open range, but I'd need to file her hoofs sometime soon. The horse was happy enough though, and she'd be sleeping soon. I was tired too, although I wasn't really feeling it right then. I was taking my time, putting off the inevitable. I entered slowly, keeping my gun pointed down at my side. It was safed and I kept my fingers a long way from the trigger. I didn't know who would be in there, or how many of them. Part of the reason I'd taken so long was to make sure they were happy about letting me in. They'd had plenty of chances to do something about it if they weren't. "Feel better?" It was the same man, standing at a large heavy wooden table, cutting vegetable it looked like. The back door led right into a large room that might have been an office or a classroom once. There was a chalkboard along one wall and a world map on the other. The opposite wall had a couple open doors and a homemade fireplace from the looks of it. Shiny aluminum stovepipe ran up through the ceiling and the hearth wasn't much more than a slab of concrete with some rocks mortared around it. For all its ugliness though, the fireplace did seem to work and there was a blackened pot hanging over the coals and a rich good smell filled my senses. "Yeah, I do." I offered him a smile. "I probably look a little better too, huh?" He let that go and walked over from the table, wiping his hands on his pants and then holding the right one out. "I'm John Arcadian" I took his hand and it was warm and calloused and dry. "I'm Lonnie." "Just Lonnie?" he smiled too, finally and let go of my hand after a long count to ten. "Or Eleanor Fallon, but I'm not much for that." I looked around, not hiding my curiosity. "Okay, Lonnie. Uhhh...You don't need that, I don't think." He was gesturing at my rifle. "I like to keep it handy." I shrugged. "I'll put it over here. Alright?" I moved to hang it by its strap on an old brass hook near the door and John nodded. "Just habit." I said, mostly because he was quiet and just watching me. "Smells good in here." I walked towards the fire. "Making some Mulligan stew there." John walked over too, meeting me close to the fire and using the handle of a big spoon to lift the lid. "Little bit of everything in there. I'm making a salad too." I'd leaned close and the fire was warm. The stew bubbled thickly and my stomach growled. I looked at the man, sitting back a little, and rolled my eyes. "I haven't had a decent dinner in awhile." "Well, there's plenty for the both of us." John was putting the lid back in place, having given his stew a good long stir. "Just the two of us?" I looked at him and he looked back. "What do you mean?" "Isn't there anyone else here?" I looked around. "Nope, just me." He looked around too and then corrected himself. "Just us, I should say." "Oh." I was a little surprised at that. He hadn't looked like much of a poker player when he'd come outside to meet me, but it had been a pretty good bluff. "Had a few folks here, back at the Turn, but they headed off for Omaha." He went back to his table and I followed him, finding a sturdy wooden chair to sit on while he chopped some cucumbers, carrots and onions. "Too bad for them." I said, not meaning it to sound as uncaring as it did. Omaha was a big hole in the ground now, along with about 200 other places I'd never see. "Yup." He shrugged. "You're the first person come by in, oh...5 or 6 weeks I guess. You said you were passing through." John looked at me. "Where ya headed?" I took a little breath and pursed my lips, thinking about it. "I was thinking Arizona maybe. Try and get into Mexico." "They're saying Mexico's having a revolution." John was using the blade of his knife to pull the vegetables into a big plastic bowl. "Who says?" "Radio people. I can get the New Republic sometimes, after eight or so. They said Mexico declared itself neutral and some folks didn't like it. Bombed el presidente' or some such. Anyway, they took about ten million people down there." His eyes were gentle, but sad. "I reckon they might take one more." But he didn't think so and truthfully, neither did I. "Well, it isn't like I have a lot of choices." I shrugged and got up to grab some plates out of a cabinet John was pointing at. It was an old country cupboard and I found some flatware in one of the drawers. "So where ya coming from then?" "Chicago." I shrugged, watching as he tossed our little salad. "I heard that was gone too." John said. "Yeah." I looked down at my hands. I hadn't been anywhere near Chicago, but my parents had lived there. We ate quietly after that, making small talk about how good the food was, how the weather had been, that sort of thing. It was almost normal and I had vague memories of meals like this from before, but thinking of them only made it worse. "Starting to rain." I said, standing at his makeshift sink, ladling water into a large and shallow plastic bowl so I could wash the dishes. There was thunder in the distance and the sound of rain pelting against the windows was relaxing. "The shed's dry enough, might get cold though." John was watching me, standing against the wall. I just shrugged, washing the dishes slowly and stacking them on the table. It was a long metal thing, the sort with folding legs. It would have been nice to have a real kitchen, I thought, but this wasn't bad. I glanced over my shoulder a minute later and John was still there. He'd found a pipe someplace, but it wasn't lit. He just played it across his teeth while he watched me. "It's been a long time since I watched a woman doing dishes." He said softly. "A long time." "It doesn't hardly make up for you taking me in like this." I said, choosing my words carefully. "But I do what I can..." "Nah, it's no big thing." "...with what I got." I turned from the sink, drying my hands on a bit of rag that was nearby. I was waiting for him, offering myself if he wanted me. If he didn't that would be okay too, although it had been awhile for me too and he was nice enough to look at anyway. "You want to listen to the radio? See if we can't get some news?" John asked me and I nodded. "Is it gonna work in this weather?" I asked him. "We'll see." He shrugged. "Hell, some days it doesn't want to work when the sky's crystal clear. I think it's more them than me. Come on back here..." I followed him out of the kitchen, around a corner and into what was obviously his sleeping area. There was a mattress on the floor, made up with clean bedding. A lot of books and some candles. John lit one with a wooden match and he gestured at his bed. "It's the only furniture I got, sorry about that." He offered me an apologetic smile. "It's okay," I smiled back and sat down. "Maybe I oughta take off my boots though." It was comfortable enough and I wiggled my toes, setting my boots aside while John played with his radio. There was a lot of static, but every now and then we could hear a scratchy voice and John patiently moved the dial back and forth, zeroing in on the weak signal. "...are set up east of the Mississippi River..." "There we go." John smiled at me. "We have something tonight." He sat down next to me, both of us leaning back against the cold cinderblock wall. We listened to the news, which was interrupted for a few seconds every now and again by lightning. It was the first broadcast I'd heard in a month, maybe longer, but it sounded much the same as I remembered. Martial law was in effect, the New Republicans had established a central government in Nashville, food was being rationed. All that sort of thing which sounded good, but we'd seen no signs of any of it where we were. "Six war criminals were executed today for crimes against humanity. The six were identified as former air force colonel ..." The radio continued, listing the individuals by name and rank and where they'd been assigned. What they'd done was obvious. "Not sure I agree with that." John said, giving me a little look, but I said nothing. "Hanging people for following orders." "Would you have done it?" I asked him. The radio had fallen silent with another crash of thunder. The storm was almost upon us now. "Pushed the button?" He shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. That's what we paid 'em for though. What we trained 'em for. The order comes, flip the switch, drop the bomb." "They could have said no." I offered, hugging my knees to my breasts. "And then what?" He sighed. "Let's get a blanket, huh? It's getting chilly, in fact...." He hesitated. "Can I sleep here?" I asked him, feeling very alone suddenly. "With you?" "Well, sure." He said slowly, rubbing his jaw. "But you don't have to..." "I want to, John." I swallowed hard. "Please? Just hold me for a little bit, okay?" "Yeah." He said softly. "I'll do that." He was shy and tender and gentle, and everything I needed right then. I wept in his arms and he thought it was because of my family, I think. And it was. My family and his, and a million others just like them. I wept for myself mostly though and when I finally fell asleep the dreams came, as I knew they would, reminding me that I'd once been Air Force Captain Eleanor Fallon, assigned to the Strategic Air Command and the missile ranges of North Dakota...and I'd done my job. Pushed my button, dropped my bomb. end rache696@yahoo.com www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/rache/www/index.htm -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+