Fallout

”Friends are welcome, you’re not a friend,” she said calmly as the drag of cigarette smoke curled around her lips. The click and lock of her gun exposed as she pulled it from her tattered wool coat.

“I am a friend! Easy now Sherril,” exclaimed Chappy waving his hands frantically in front of his face. Chappy was a friend. An old friend. Sherril hadn’t seen him since the last blasting and air raid six years ago. He was a tall fellow. A little over six feet tall and well built. He had strong features and deep green eyes. His shaggy hair and stubbled beard made him unrecognizable, but there was no denial about his missing pinkie and ring finger on his right hand. She was there when it was taken from him on a factory floor, the year the machines took charge.

“How are ya Chap,” Sherril tried to hide her emotions. She was elated to see him. In her mind, she ran to his arms and hugged him tightly, but she couldn’t afford to be seen attached to anyone. Connections were dangerous. She had already lost her sister in last month’s race. She kept her sister close and it had cost them both. Sherril put out her cigarette on the ash covered concrete. She secured her weapon and stepped slowly towards Chappy.

“I’m good Sher,” Chappy chuckled. Shaking his head as if to shake off the fear of almost being shot and the lack of emotion coming from the only friend or family he’d known for most of his adult life.

“Where have you been? What happened to you?”

Looking at Sherril deeply, Chappy could see the last six years in her eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of an old woman. Time had been kind, she was still as beautiful as always. Her light brown skin and dark curls of hair were radiant even in this darkened and crumbling place. Her eyes! They were black with anger, hate and sadness. Yet, she seemed hopeful to see him.

“After the machines had taken over and we were forced to work for them I couldn’t do it Sherril. They cut off my hand for trying to feed ourselves. One extra piece of bread wouldn’t have made a fucking difference, but they made sure it did!”

“I know Chap! I was there. Many men felt the same way! That’s why the air raids began. That’s why the planes were hijacked and the bombs were dropped. No one in the capital cared who survived as long as the machines were taken out,” Sherril’s tears began to flow, “When the first blast was felt I could see you running towards us. I held Freda so tight. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t hear a thing. Freda was screaming and I couldn’t hear a thing.”

Chappy held Sherril close for a moment. He closed his eyes and said they needed to find shelter. It was getting dark. Sherril smiled, for once in this dank day she had hope and a plan. She led Chappy to the remains of a bowling alley up the street. The doors were crossed and unhinged. Sherril knelt as she guided Chappy down through the small opening. They crawled underground for what seemed like five minutes. Sherril tapped on a piece of metal along one side of a cement wall. Someone grunted as they moved the box. Sherril smiled at the young woman who quickly nodded glanced at Chappy and ran to a hallway. When inside Chappy was amazed. He now understood why Sherril had acquired a gun. Several tables were upright and loaded with supplies. Food, weapons, bandages, and liquor. Even the neon signs were lit.

Shoe rental. Hot fries and cold beer.

Sherril explained that the bathrooms, lockers and showers were functional as she shoved a heavy cabinet in front of the crawl space.

“Several of us stay here. Women and children mostly. Don’t ask how the lights work or the water. That’s Gail’s department and she’d rather die or slit your throat than tell you her secrets.”

Sherril smiled as she handed Chappy a clean towel, set of scrubs, and a wool blanket.

“This must be him Sher,” a voice stepped out of the darkness followed by the familiar young woman who first greeted them, “Hello Chap, May I call you Chap?”

Chappy extended his full hand, “Of course. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Tara. I’m Tara. Haven’t run into a large bloke with red hair and beard have ya?”

“No I’m sorry,” Chappy said quickly as he pulled away from Tara’s grasp. She had grabbed Chappy’s injured palm with great rudeness and curiosity.

With uncomfortable silence between them, Tara excused herself and led the young girl back down the hall. As Chappy watched them leave, he caught sight of several women and children gawking at him behind the rubble of the old place.

“Most of these women have lost someone. A few of us look daily at the races to find their families. Descreatly, dressed like racers so our location isn’t discovered. What we have here, we know is rare. People would kill for what we have preserved. We want to save people, but not at the cost of our own lives. Everyone here knows who we can save and look for. Who we can trust, if they are still alive.” Sherril’s voice tapered off. Sherril hoped that Freda was still alive.

Chappy had seen the races. They started the year after the bombings. All the survivors were gathered and anyone with valuables or possessions to trade were forced to race. Without instruction, drive! Drive a creepy collaborative junk pile made of old machine parts. If you win, you could keep your possessions. The brave and valiant would split their possessions with the others or donate them to the crowd. The greedy and heartless would keep their own and everything else to themselves. As always the rich ran the show and controlled the future races. Soon, if you won you would only be able to keep your own possessions. Everything else went to the race keeper. If you lost now, you lost everything.

“Sherril, how did you and Freda end up in the race?” Chappy questioned.

“We had found a bar after the bombing stopped. It was standing, untouched by any trama. Freda called it a miracle. We sat down inside, among a group of quiet souls. We sipped whiskey as if we weren’t hunting for people or supplies. We sat as if we had no where else to go. A man came out from behind the bar. I can still hear his clanking boots. He noticed Freda. As he approached us I realized he was looking at her locket. I made a mistake. I grabbed her arm and pulled her close to me. I thought he wanted her…not the damb jewelry! He pulled the locket from her neck and said, “I see you find her valuable too eh?”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Chappy sighed, “what did you do?”

“I fought like hell! Didn’t do much good. They dragged us to the arena. Sargasso, they called him. He raised his arms like a championship boxer. He told the race keepers he had valuables to sell. He sold us to the keeper for the price of Freda’s locket.”

Sargasso stood at the base of the arena. His large muscles strained by his grip on two young women. One much younger, thin and scandalously clothed. Sargasso had stripped her of her garments to show off the merchandise. Hordes of men women and children stood or sat on piles of rock. Dressed in rags. The arena was made from the bomb sight. Ground zero. Sargasso extended his gaze towards the north end of the arena. The race keeper nodded behind sunglasses at Sargasso. Sargasso dropped Freda in the dirt like a dog. Her body collapsed like game meat sat before a king. Sargasso wiped the sweat from his scared brow. He ran his fingers through his roughly tamed red beard.

“I wish to fight for these valuables,” his voice was deep and dry. “I have a gold and silver locket worthy of a race and the girl alone should pleasure you!”

The race keeper was lean, well groomed, fully dressed in clean denim clothes. His military arsenal at his sides. He was adorned with chains, rings, and weapons. Sitting up from his rock thrown he said, “bring them to me.”

Two men with guns ran through the center of the arena and dragged Freda to the north side. One man snatching up the necklace from Sargasso like a starving man steeling food. Sherril, defeated, walked willingly with Sargasso to the race keeper.

“I will race against this woman,” shoving Sherril forward, “she finds value in the girl and the locket is mine.”Sargasso claimed.

“Really,” questioned the race keeper as he opened the locket to reveal old tattered black and white photos of a young black couple in an embrace. “Your family then?” He questioned.

Sargasso snorted. Maintaining his ground he insisted the locket was his. He had found it.

“Hmmm… no doubt you did! Probably around one of the necks of these fine women,” the race keeper laughed. Everyone joined in the laughter. The race keeper quickly silenced them and drew his attention to Sherril.

“Do you wish to race for the hand of this woman?” He asked.

Sherril looked up, beaten and bloody, “not just her hand.” She said sarcastically.

“Cleaver. Cleaver girl this one. Very well Sargasso you shall have your race. She wins she gets her sister back. If you win you can keep your trinket and I will keep the girl.”

Chappy knew in an instant the outcome. Sherril was alone. Survival had stripped her of memories and family. Chappy began to hope for Sherril. He knew Freda had to be alive and the locket was the key to finding her. “If we find Sargasso, we can bargain for Freda. He can get us to her!” Chappy exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down Chap,” Sherril whispered, “Tara doesn’t know I found her husband. She doesn’t know what kind of man he has become.”

Chappy knew working with the machines and transforming them into armored racing vehicles messed with men’s minds. It made people hope for order, wealth and ideas of security, but in the end it was all just a game to keep the race keepers alive and in control. Finding the locket would find Sargasso. Sargasso had won many times and would know where Freda was being held. He would know the race keepers habits and needs. He could be swayed, he could be the race keepers undoing. Chappy fell asleep in a padded leather booth. He would convince Sherril to begin the search in the morning.

“Are you crazy? No! No I can’t go after him. He almost killed me once.” Sherril pushed herself away from her breakfast and her friend. She could see the hope in Chappy’s eyes. The fear welled up inside her. She felt sick. She had searched for a month for Freda with no luck. Maybe with Chappy she could. She knew she had to try.

In the arena crowds began to clamber. There was nothing left to do but trade for food, race, and try to stay alive. Beyond the arena was an abandoned home. Most everyone fought tooth and nail for shelter, but this place was left alone. The room was partially lit with lantern light and old candle wax. The floor was hard and dirty. The mattress on the floor was covered with old quilts. There was a small window open and high along the wall. She could see light and heard the sounds of marching. “A basement,” Freda thought. She saw an old furnace broken and crushed under the weight of a falling ceiling. A large beam anchored above her seemed to be holding everything up. The sound of chains scrapped the ground. She was chained to the wall by one arm. Everything seemed blurry. “I’ve been drugged,” her thoughts were incomplete as a man came closer with a syringe and keys.

“Time to dance my darling,” he spoke softly injecting the fire into her veins and unlocking her chains. He stood up closed the needle and key into a small box and motioned to a man in the corner. The man silently slapped a wad of cash into his hand, “You have two hours. Do with her what you wish just don’t leave marks on her face.”

The man with the drugs left the room through a door she couldn’t see. She heard it lock from the outside. Large boots approached her. Ruff hands grabbing her limp body up he spoke.

“Now let’s see what you can do.”

Chappy and Sherril loaded pockets and coats with supplies. They knew they needed things for the journey and items to trade for information, yet they didn’t want to seem like they were suspicious. Any attempt to take down the race keeper would result in death. He had spies everywhere. They left the bowling alley and Tara closed the opening behind them. “Good luck,” she said, “You’ll find her I know it.”

Sherril’s heart sank. She hoped she would find her alive. She also didn’t want to tell Tara the truth of how she lost her in the first place. She prayed that Sargasso could be swayed to help her for the sake of Tara. Sherril was prepared to tell Sargasso that she would kill Tara if he didn’t help.

Chappy and Sherril reached the surface and exited the bowling alley doors. No one saw them come out. They had kept their “home” secret. Sherril lit a cigarette as they walked towards the arena. She had four left. She could get some information with them if she had to. The matches were more valuable than the cigarettes. Six of those were in the box. Chappy clambered at everyone he passes. “Do you know Sargasso? I have something for him…” many shook their heads and some avoided him all together. Just before nightfall, on the north end of the arena, a woman told Chappy that Sargasso drank himself to sleep every evening in a makeshift tent at the edge of the woods. Near an abandoned house that looked as if it would collapse any moment. Chappy and Sherril found the house and the tent. Stepping out of the empty tent, Chappy said, “He’s not here.”

“Who ya looking for girls?” Sargasso grunted as he stepped out the door and onto the leaning porch. The entire house quivered as he walked down the steps.

“You!” Sherril exclaimed. “Give me back my sister’s locket and I’ll let you live!”

Chewing on the stump of a cigar, Sargasso laughed. “Oh yeah! What’s a girl like you gonna do?”

Sherril pulled the gun from her pocket and aimed it at his head. Sargasso told her to take it easy. He had sold that locket for whiskey weeks ago.

“Damb it! I need that locket to buy my sister back from the race keeper!” She yelled as she cocked the gun.

“Your sister?” Sargasso sounding confused. “You don’t know where she is?”

Even more confused, Chappy searched Sargasso’s eyes, “do you know where she is?”

“No, no man. From the look of this and that gun I’d say you thought I had her and you knew where we were,aiming that thing at me!”

Sherril put the gun away and sat on the steps. Hopeless. Without the locket she didn’t have enough to buy her sister back. She didn’t want to betray Tara or put her life at risk to use Sargasso. As Sargasso began to walk away, a small well dressed man opened the house doors. “Sir,” he said, “you have more time on your ticket take it now or loose it! I don’t do refunds!”

Sargasso looked nervously at Chappy. “Just a whore house man!”

“Whore house?” Chappy scrambled inside.

“Sir,you can’t just enter! Will you be using his remaining time? I can’t allow you to do that!”

Sherril stood quickly, aiming again at Sargasso’s head,“don’t move!”

“Oh my!” Screeched the little man. He ran inside after Chappy. “Sir! Sir you can’t the race keeper checks my times he checks my records! He controls the funds. He’ll kill me if time with the girl is stolen!”

Chappy back handed the man mid sentence, dropping him to the floor unconscious. The key slid from his pocket as blood ran from his nose. Chap picked up the key and tried unlocking rooms.

Outside, Sherril held the gun on Sargasso. Firing a shot passed his ear, warning him she was serious. He began to beg for his life. He confessed that the whore inside was her sister. “She’s being drugged to do what they want!” He shouted. “I can’t help you! I have nothing left! My wife and my daughter are dead! Why should I care about your sister! You left the race with your own skin! You left her for dead! How was I supposed to know you came back to find her?”

“They’re not dead!” Sherril confessed. The gun now shaking in her hands at the thought of this monster rapping her sister.

“What!” Sargasso fell to his knees. “You’ve seen them?”

“They live in the bowling alley with me and others beyond the taverns.”

“There is no bowling alley! It’s a lie! It’s a pile of rubble.”

Still shaking the gun, with Sargasso on his knees, Chappy emerged from the doorway with Freda wrapped in a silk curtain and dangling in his arms. “Everything is a pile of rubble! She’s telling you the truth Sargasso!”

In the darkness they made their way back to the bowling alley. Hiding in shadows and avoiding passers by. Emotions ran high when Sargasso entered the alley. Tara screamed. The two women wrapped their arms around him and wouldn’t let go. Through tears, Sargasso thanked Sherril for her mercy.

Sherril collapsed on the floor. She held Chappy and her sister close. She vowed not to discuss what happened to her sister to anyone. She saw the peace that rushed over Sargasso as he held his daughter close. Chappy knew that their strength in all of this destruction was all they would need to defeat the race keeper and rebuild. They ended their search for the locket, but the memories never died. One day amid new plants and new construction a small boy found it lying in the dirt. He brought it to his father. “Daddy, what’s this?”

Chappy held it up. Sherril gasped, “Well this is very special. This is what caused us to fight for our families and rebuild.”