Horns

I used to not be scared of the dark. Back when Mamma was alive, and the birds sang in the trees. Now everything is just translucent shades of black, white, and gray around here. As I write, I am looking out on the dreary burgundy barn that used to glower a brilliant red. When Mamma was here, that is. 

My name is Angel Brooks, and I live in a city named Warren. Back in the '70s and '80s, this old town was a prime location to raise a family. There were plenty of jobs, admirable suburbs, and restaurants were bustling with hungry patrons. 

Then steel mills closed in 1996. All the respectable families packed up their moving vans and drove down the river, leaving just the people too poor or too stupid to pick up and go. 

My parents fell in the first category. 

They were high school sweethearts, and my mother got pregnant with me the year after graduating high school. Some people thought she was a hick or uneducated, having a baby so early.

On the contrary, all she ever wanted to be was a mother. She was simply following her dreams. 

If only she could have done it in a town with more potential for raising a family.

I closed my little red journal and looked out at the land again. I sighed reluctantly and picked myself up off the bench. "It's time to get out of here," I told myself. 

I've been planning it for months, getting out of this hick town. Well, what's left of it, that is. 

I fit everything that had any significant importance to me in a backpack. It's funny to think that my whole life is now encompassed in a medium-sized backpack. I got from the grocery store one year before school started. I clearly remember picking out a couple packs of pencils and three notebooks along with it.

"Tomorrow." I smiled to myself. One more day and I'll be out of here. The idea made me jubilant. I'll find the military protected camp called Fort Jefferson that Aunt Gemma told me about and create a new life there.

"Just go North. It's a long trip, but I know you'll be good for it." She said in her thick southern twang. They used to call Aunt Gemma a "doomsday prepper" before the revolution happened.

I clearly remember the day she begged me to go with her.

"Honey, you have to come. You're Momma and Papa don't see what's going on. It's already happening in the big cities, and little towns like this are next. I couldn't bear to see you go down too, Angel." Her voice was pleading, and I was blind to the atrocities ahead of me.

"I'm sorry, Gemma. I can't leave. Momma needs me. You know how fragile her mind is right now. If I left, I'm not sure if she could handle it." I begged. Each word I said came out like toxic sludge- slow and hard to stomach.

That was the last time I saw Aunt Gemma- or anyone except the townsfolk for that matter.

In my hands, I hold the map that Aunt Gemma made for me nine months ago. It's ripped around the edges and splattered with various coffee stains from late-night scouting under the glow of candlelight. 

Today I am leaving all I've ever known for the unknown. I savor this moment in my mind, taking mental pictures of the house and the farm to look back on when I miss Momma.

I begin my trek into the woods with my outrageous backpack filled with everything I need to survive. 

As I walk north, I admire the greenery and sing to myself in a hushed tone to steady my pounding heart. As youthful songs flood my memories, I begin to recall all the times Momma wasn't singing- but screaming.

Momma wouldn't scream at people, but often tangible things such as the kitchen sink or her favorite hairbrush when she knocked it off her vanity by accident. If her tantrum didn't subside in ten or fifteen minutes, Momma would throw herself on the floor and pound the walls. I was never allowed in the room when Momma would throw her tantrums, so I had to call Poppa to calm her down. With a small syringe in his hand, Papa would slip upstairs, and eventually, the pounding stopped. 

When I turned fifteen, Papa had to start going on business trips for work. That meant it was my turn to be Momma's babysitter. 

The forest was quiet. Almost too quiet. I had the eerie sensation I was being watched. I braced myself and looked around the trees. 

In a weak voice, I mustered out, "Hello? Who's there?" 

Crunch. I gasped and yelled, "I'm warning you. I have a gun." I lied. Hopefully, the perpetrator wouldn't get close enough to find out. 

I heard another crunch, and a low voice shakily says, "My name is Harris Blanchard. I'm not going to hurt you. Please don't shoot." His hands were in the air as a sign of surrender. 

"Why are you here?" I demanded in an authoritative tone.

"I'm trying to find Fort Jefferson. I'll hit it in about three days if I keep heading North." My mind raced with the idea that we were both heading to the same place. Was this a lie to catch me off guard? How long has Harris been following me?

Harris was tall with curly brown hair, and his skin was tanned by long hours in the sun. He wore a red flannel with a black shirt under with worn blue jeans. It looked like the boy hadn't showered in a few days, with a halo of sweat glistening across his brow and smudges of dirt across his neck and arms. He looked to be around eighteen, with a regular build for a boy that age.

"I'm heading there too," I replied, letting my muscles relax and heartbeat slow.

His face went from fearful to exhilarated in a matter of seconds. "Really? I'm so glad because I wasn't sure if the Fort was just an old wife's tale. Where are you from?"

"Warren. It's about ten miles from here." I replied. "Where is your family? Are they waiting for you at Fort Jefferson?"

"Just my Aunt Gemma. The rest of my family is dead." I looked down over the vast wilderness, avoiding his eyes.

He nodded to show respect and said, "I'm sorry. Mine is too. Our house was burned down by one of the cults that overthrew the government. I happened to be taking a late-night swim by the river, and when I came back, everything was burned to the ground."

My heart broke for the boy. His family was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"That's horrible." was all I could say.

"Yeah, but that's our new reality here, right? I just realized I never asked you your name." He said, changing the subject. 

"Angel." 

"Nice to meet you, Angel." He stuck out his arm to shake my hand. "To you as well. But what person our age shakes hands? I feel so formal." I laughed, and Harris chimed in as well with a small chuckle. "Obviously, you're not from around Paris, Tennessee." He chirped in a soft southern accent.

The rest of the afternoon, Harris and I talked about our lives pre-apocalypse. Harris told me that his parents owned a small pig farm, so his job was to take care of all the piglets until they became adults. When they were old enough to wean off their mothers, he would move them to a separate pen. He also told me he was supposed to start college last fall before all the universities closed. 

"I was majoring in criminal justice. I was going to be a lawyer and do some good in the world." He said longingly, "Guess that's not going to happen now."

Around twilight, Harris and I pitched our tents and set up camp. I made a small fire while Harris grabbed a pack of canned tuna out of a pouch. "Want a tuna melt?" he asked as he grabbed a couple slices of bread from a plastic container. 

After we ate our tuna melts and got changed into pajamas for the night, Harris and I sat on the ground as the flickering embers of the fire danced around us. 

"Well, I've told you about me, but I hardly know anything about you," Harris said as he sifted through his backpack. 

"What do you wanna know?"

"Tell me about your family." 

I cringed, not wanting to say anything weird or embarrassing in front of the cute boy to scare him away. "It was always just me, my mom, and dad. I lived on a small farm in the middle of nowhere. Right about now, I should be graduating high school and going to college far away. Instead, I'm walking forty miles in the woods to reach a military base with a total stranger." The idea sounded ludacris when I spoke it aloud.

I stood up from the ground and grabbed the blanket I was sitting on. "I better go to bed. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Harris said.

I paused and looked at him. Then I whispered, "Goodnight." in a hushed tone.

When I reached the tent, thoughts of Momma flooded my mind.

I was transported back to age fifteen, hearing her screams erupting from the hallway. 

"Angel! Come on. It's time to learn." Fear clouded my mind as I raced up the stairs with Poppa. He handed me a syringe with yellow liquid in it. Momma was kicking and screaming, a wild look on her pale face. "Get out!" She bellowed from deep in her throat.

"Stay!" Poppa interrupted. His voice became calm as he told me what to do.

"Angel, I want you to gently stick the needle in her thigh while I hold her down. Can you do that for me?"

Tears swam in my eyes as I bent down with the syringe. "Hold still, Jenny," Poppa grumbled under his breath. I steadied my breathing and counted down in my head. 

1.. 2…3

I stuck the needle into the tender part of my mother's thigh, letting the yellow liquid drain into her body.

The next two days flew by faster than I had imagined. By my calculations, Harris and I were about ten miles from camp and should arrive by tomorrow morning.

"What do you think Fort Jefferson will be like?" I asked Harris as the fall leaves crunched underfoot. 

"I don't care as long as I can get a hot meal and a decent shower." I nodded in agreement and asked, "What if when we get there, it's all ruins like the other camps?" The thought made me anxious.

"I guess we'll have to make a new plan. Don't worry about that now." I could hear the strain in his voice, meaning that thought had crossed his mind too. 

"At least we have each other," I started on a positive note.

"Exactly, we can fend for ourselves out here until we find another base."

"That is unless the cults don't saw our heads off and mount them on steaks first," I added sarcastically.

"We just have to be careful, you know. Most of the cults are in the deep south or far north anyways. Most of them don't live in the middle."

When night fell again, we pitched tents near a clearing. Tonight it was my turn to provide the meal while Harris made the fire. I decided that we would have fried bologna and granola bars.

"So, do you have a boyfriend?" Harris asked me as he bit off a chunk of bologna. 

"Not really," I replied.

"What does "not really" mean?" 

"Well, I've gone on a blind date and a group date before, but nothing serious. How about you?" I tried to be casual as this gorgeous boy asked me about my love life.

"I had one serious girlfriend, but we broke up about a year ago."

"Oh," I commented, while my stomach was filled with butterflies. I hoped my cheeks didn't look as red as they felt. 

He scooted a little closer to me and said, "Yeah, it was no big deal. Sarah found someone richer and more popular, so she left. My guess is she's probably dead now. It seems like everyone nowadays is."

I scooted my hand closer to his so that our pinkie fingers were barely touching. Catching my signal, he gently placed his hand on top of mine.

"Angel, I really like you. You're such an interesting person. And I know I've only known you for a couple days, but I feel like we've gotten really close in that time…" His voice trailed off, waiting for my reply.

"I feel the same way," I whispered as I brushed my lips against his.

As soon as our lips touched, it was like fireworks going off inside my head. Every one of my muscles ached to be just a little closer to him. He grabbed around my waist and pulled me closer. Before continuing, he looked into my face to ask me if I was alright. 

I leaned into his body more to signal yes. I grabbed around his neck and breathed in his sweet scent. "Sandalwood," I thought to myself. His lips were warm and soft. Now that I felt his lovely touch, I knew I couldn't live one day without it.

We kissed under the stars for a long time, Harris holding me in his arms. I imagine that I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I woke up, it was morning. Harris was lying beside me on the ground, a small smile playing on his lips while he slept. His curly brown hair was messy and wild. 

I slowly put my arms around him and kissed his cheek. "Good morning."

His smile widened when he opened his eyes. "Hello, beautiful. Ready to get going."

After we packed up camp, Harris and I set out to conquer the last of our trip. Harris held my hand sometimes, stealing glimpses of me every couple minutes as we caught. I could hardly keep my eyes off him. 

"Camp should be coming up in the next mile," I exclaimed.

"I can't wait." He squeezed my hand tighter.

As I walked, I saw a large clearing ahead where the sun was peeking through the trees.

"I think it's up here." Harris cried.

We ran as fast as we could to the clearing. When we reached it, I gasped in horror.

In front of us was an ashen wasteland. The whole base was charred, and I could see decaying burnt bodies among the rubbage.

My heart rate was quickly elevated, and I felt the urge to cry.

"I thought you said the cults didn't live around here!" My voice was hoarse from the shock.

Harris didn't answer my question. Instead, he gripped my hand and started to run through the forest as fast as he could. "We have to get out of here! They're still here."

Tears were flowing down my cheeks now, and my vision was fading around the edges with fear.

That's when we began to hear horns wail in the distance.