Behind Our Walls (28 page)

The bullet didn't kill her but it was enough to knock her down and stop her. I had to finish the job with her knife. I didn't want to waste another bullet. She was crying and begging for me to let her go, that she would just leave and not bother us anymore. What a fucking actor. Besides, she would have probably just bled to death. I was doing her a favor. No more than she deserved

I needed to get Stella up on her feet and moving. Who knows what kind of people were around that heard the shot? Sound seems to carry on forever these days, feeding off of newly empty spaces. We might as well have put up one of those search lights that car dealers used to get people's attention. I don't know if Fiona had a friend or friends that she was leading us to for an ambush but if she did, I hope they weren't following too close.

Stella has been crying a lot tonight. I'm glad we're sleeping near a stream and it's raining so that people who might pass by won't be able to hear her as easily. It's strange looking out for her instead of the other way around. Five years ago, she was just the hot neighbor to my parents that I fantasized about sometimes.

I don't know for sure where we go from here, after the great Fiona circle jerk we just endured. I guess there's still a chance of that stadium enclave existing out there somewhere. I guess we can try and find that.

Jesus, I sound pathetic.

Saturday, October 27

Stella is dead.

Monday, October 29

I just buried her. She had been out looking for water when I heard her screaming for me to help her.

I'm not fast enough.

Wednesday, October 31

Two men. That's all it took. They were trying to rape her. Stella was trying to fight back. I came around the bend just in time to see the knife being pushed into her chest. I remember her eyes finding mine and there was a microsecond of relief in there. Then realization that there wasn't anything I could do to help her. She cried a little. Then there was nothing.

I don't remember exactly what happened next. I had taken a walking stick from the house we had been staying at with Fiona the bitch. The two guys must not have heard me coming up on them because the next thing I knew I was standing over both of their bodies. The walking stick was cracked in two and there was blood everywhere and all over me.

Stella was gone. I carried her. I kept her safe.

At least I could try and do one god dammed thing right.

Monday, November 5

I can't do this anymore. There isn't a single thing left for me in this entire worthless shit heap of a planet that this has turned in to. Nobody left. Nothing left for me.

I've been spending days trying to decide how I should do it. What can I do? I'm not going to use the knife. I'd probably just end up hurting myself really badly and take days to die. I put the muzzle of the gun to my temple and no matter what I said to myself, I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. Nothing high enough to jump off of. Not enough rope. I'm not going to try starving myself to death - that would take way too long.

I just need to wait for the right opportunity. The right opportunity to end all of this.

I don't know why I'm still writing in this journal or who I'm writing to. If anyone is reading this, I hope things are better for you than they have been for us. I hope you can make sense of all of this because I sure as shit can't. If you are reading this now, way off into what I would consider the future, seeing my words and thoughts coming to you from your past ... I'm not sure what else to say.

I bring you greetings.

And goodbye.

Sophie dropped the notebook to the ground and pressed her hands to her face, trying to contain the tears. She hadn't felt this since Rowen had been killed. This kid had done nothing to anyone. He couldn't have hurt them, even if he wanted to and if there was anything the journal made clear, it was that he wanted to die. As bad as the world had gotten, it shattered her to see someone so young giving up and going to such lengths to accomplish his own demise. It angered her to be manipulated into participating like this, and she felt like her right to choose had been stolen by this nameless corpse.

At least she now knew what had happened to Fiona, although she wondered what could have possibly transpired following her expulsion to have caused her to stoop to such a low level. Clearly she had tried to take advantage of these two, and likely would have either killed them or done something to bring that about. She hated that she had once thought of Fiona as a friend and that despite everything, she still mourned her death. It was hard to not wonder what kind of chances Fiona had ultimately missed out on, with the collapse of society and how much she was just a victim of circumstances.

If nothing else could be said, this kid had known what he wanted and in the end, did what was necessary. She had to respect him for that, at least.

Lot would hate it, but she had already decided that they would bring the body back and give him a proper burial. He had come so close to finding them, he deserved at least that much. She could even build something for him, reminding people of where they had come from, and where they might be going. She felt a bond with the kid, saw him as a kindred spirit as so many of his words were spoken to her so intimately. She wanted everyone to read it.

In a moment of inspiration, she reached down to open the journal again. She opened it to the last entry, turned to the next blank page and began to write.

Postscript

My name is Sophie. I don't know the name of the man who was keeping this journal but we wanted to save it in order to preserve his story as best we can.

Our group was out on patrol when he came bursting out of the woods waving a gun at us. He didn't give us a chance to stop him and ignored our warnings. He was shot multiple times. I can only hope he died quickly.

It wasn't until after that we discovered the gun wasn't loaded. We read his journal and it became clear what he had been trying and the role we played in his plan.

So we brought his body with us back to the stadium. He has been buried and a small monument has been erected in his honor. We're going to leave this journal at the grave so that people who come here can read his story.

I can only hope that he will be able to speak to future generations. He's right in that we likely will never see substantive changes in our lifetimes but hopefully, maybe someday some kind of society can start to rebuild into something different, something better. My dream is that eventually, even if I'm not alive to see it, civilization will be able to take flight again on the back of the only thing that can make that even possible...

...on the wings of words.

AFTERWORD

Being a writer is something that has always been a dream for me. And while I certainly won't suggest that I need some kind of external accomplishment to think of myself in that way, being able to publish this book is a huge moment for me. It is not the first time that I have published my work, but it is my first novel, the first time I set out to not just start, but finish a story of this length and magnitude. I can only hope that you have enjoyed it as much as I have in the years it has taken, bringing it into full blossom.

Becoming a published author and somewhat a part of this industry has led to the amazing experience of meeting so many talented authors who are of a quality that makes me constantly want to be better, to work harder. I wanted to take a moment and list some of them, those authors in particular who have been inspiring to me and have made me proud to consider myself a peer or a friend or even just an admirer of their work. If you haven't, I would encourage you to seek them out and lend them your support. Thank you guys, for everything you do.

Many thanks, and eternal gratitude (in no particular order) to AM Yates, Rich Hawkins, Paul Feeney, Duncan Ralston, Jessica McHugh, Samantha Dunaway-Bryant, Kit Power, DS George-Jones, Angela Carina Barry, Thomas S Flowers III, Dino Parenti, Alex Kimmel, H.L Nelson, Ryan Morrow, Mark West, Duncan Bradshaw, Chuck Wendig, Michael Marshall Smith, Jack Wallen, Steven Booth and Barry P Connors.

I would also like to thank Bill Peterson, Lori Wood and Barb Shields for creative contributions as well as assistance during the essential editing process. It's a big part of making the book what it is so thank you for your time.

There are others, to be sure, so I apologize if I left you out. I appreciate all of you and am thrilled to have you to share this part of my life with me. It has been a long journey of words that has been an honor to undertake. And all I can say is that the road has been a lot smoother, thanks mainly to you crazy lot.

All the love and respect, from one of me to all of you.

Chad Clark

Cedar Rapids, IA 2016

BEFORE

YOU GO.....

Hello. If it's not too much of a bother, I'd like to take up another bit of your time. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the book and that if you did, perhaps you will consider writing a review.

One of the biggest challenges facing independent authors is gaining visibility in a literal ocean of other books. One of the ways our titles make it onto Amazon's lists of recommended books is by having reviews. Otherwise, the only way we can find readers is if they go out of their way to find us. The more reviews a book has, the more chances there are of other people finding it.

You don't have to write a long, critical essay. Even giving a rating along with, "I liked it" is literally enough. Having a brief review is light years ahead of having no reviews at all.

But regardless of what you do, please know that you have my unending gratitude for supporting my art by simply purchasing this book in the first place. You are awesome no matter what.

Thank you.

You can leave reviews online at
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OTHER BOOKS BY

CHAD A. CLARK

Down The Beaten Path

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

Borrowed Time

A Shade For Every Season