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Night After
By Nelson Lowhim
Copyright 2012 Nelson Lowhim
Eiso Publishing
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead or otherwise, is purely coincidental.
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I stared at the man who walked back and forth in front of me, his bathrobe tied with a perfect square knot. As if he had spent more than a cursory second tying it to make sure I would never see him naked again. He didn't care to respond to my "good morning" comment or even attempt to maintain eye contact. I was leaning back on a sofa, sprawled out so that no body else could fit on it.
When he entered the room, I noticed through the corner of my vision that he flinched after he saw me. It was, after all, his place.
"Are you planning on leaving soon?" he asked, finally looking me in the eye; though he gave it up as soon as I smiled. I waited a few seconds to reply to see how he would react. I sensed that he was feeling rather let down. He rustled some envelopes on a glass table, as if he were busy doing something other than talking to me.
"Yeah, no reason to stay, is there? Can you give me a ride downtown, or call a taxi?" I said. I wasn't really asking anything more so than poking him to see what he would say, or perhaps stutter, or the grand prize of choking back his anger. He started it, really. I had merely wanted a quiet night in the town. Sip my tequila on the rock and try to forget the past few years by taking more years off. Then this asshole decided to mock me. How funny that our roles should—only half a day later—be switched. I’ll be honest; I never tried this before. Of course, I’d jacked off to a few pornos like it downrange. That was the only reason I decided to do it. In my mind it looked like fun. Besides, it beat streaming Internet porn in my shitty apartment.
"Taxi?"
"Yeah, taxi. You have to pay of course, after all this," I waved my hand to ceiling to point at the upstairs bedroom. "Wasn't my idea was it?”
"I… I suppose not," he said. He was back to being a beaten child, one that knew no matter how much resolve it had, it's father's fists and drunken rage would always win. Last night at the bar he had been full of himself. Like an officer I once knew.
A look around the house and I could see why he had felt like that. The house was large with marble floors and shiny Persian carpets covering much of it; it was in a good part of town and decorated rather expensively. The Italian leather sofa I lay upon was surrounded by artifacts from all around the world. He must have traveled a lot. He made money; whatever it was that he did, he was good at it and selling his talents.
"Well? You going to call the taxi?" I asked, though I fully understood that I could have been kicked out of his apartment.
This time he had enough resolve to stare at me for more than two seconds. That pitiful determination sent him back to the table and he started to look through the phone book for a number. The fact that none of his prior accomplishments meant anything to me must have been different. In normal circumstances the fact that I lived in a run-down never cleaned studio apartment, while he was the owner of—what I consider—a mansion would mean he was king. In my view he was a pog.
"Hey baby," she cooed as she came downstairs in nothing but a bath robe that hadn't been tied; that was in fact slightly open and showed those perky breasts. Though she cooed to him—after all he was the one with a legal arrangement with her—I felt her eyes glance over at me and I toyed with the thought of getting up and grabbing her once more. The man and his disgusting paunch and skinny arms was holding her just above the hips and trying to cover her with her robe.
"Hi honey," he replied, giving her a kiss. Her presence and actions gave him confidence. After all, I may have owned the night but he owned the day—his gold chain was proof of that. "You shouldn't walk around with your robe like that."
"Why?" she asked. "We're all friends here," and she glanced over at me, smiled. Yes, indeed she was friendly. She must have married him for money and knew exactly how to convince him to do her bidding while making him think it was his idea. But she also knew when she was crossing the line and she tied up her robe. "Who were you calling baby?" she said as she walked into the kitchen.
"A taxi," he replied and now he looked me in the eye, a stern look that said: "I win the war you young prick" and starting dialing numbers. "For our friend here," he emphasized "friend" and sneered at me.
"Don't be rude Frank, let him have a little something to eat. After all you invited him here."
He put down the phone and went over to the kitchen. After some murmurs she called out to me: "Hey Matt, Matt right?"
"Yeah," I said deepening my voice as best I could.
"Would you like eggs or something else?" she asked.
"Eggs are good Caroline," I said as I got up and walked to the kitchen to join them, but also to look her up and down and absorb as much as I could. The least I was going to get out of this was a stare at those amazing curves, burn her eyes into my imagination and use it for later.
"Oh you're sweet you remembered my name," she gave that glance once again as I walked into the kitchen. "Isn't that sweet Frank?"
"Yeah, positively," he huffed as he was standing over the stove heating up some oil in a pan while she starting to mix the eggs.
"Scrambled eggs okay with you?" she said smiling at me while looking at my below my belt then up at my eyes. Once she scrambled the eggs she walked by me and dragged her hand across my two legs. "Frank, I'll do the eggs, go set the table.”
As Frank walked to the other room with the dishes for the dining table, Caroline stepped up to me with a kiss and she slid a paper into my pocket and gave that smile. "Call me next weekend before you leave okay?"
"Of course," I replied, happy she remembered my upcoming deployment. Last night she seemed taken by it. It's good to be a warrior.
"Frank won't want to see you again, so it will have to be at your place," she said as she glided back to the stove. Of course I was worried that once she saw my shoddy apartment the reason why men like Frank get to marry women like her would become obvious and she would walk away. But that was okay for the same reason that Frank never wanted to see me again. That reason came last night when I had my hands all over Caroline, and he was feeling uncomfortable with watching—his major selling point at the bar.
I grabbed a magazine, opened it and pretended to be deeply immersed in it—even furrowed my forehead—as Frank walked in a few seconds later. I felt him stare at the both of us as he tried to listen to the silence for clues.
"The table is set," he said.
"Perfect baby," she replied, "why don't both of you sit down I'll be there in a second."
I sat down with him, the silence he heard when he walked in the kitchen had deflated his confidence once again and he stared at the table. I had no reason to torture him any further—I had my number. I ate and left with a "later", which was not directed at him or his evil stare that got bolder when the taxi arrived. I looked back as the yellow cab drove away; could see her in his arms kissing him and saw him laughing at something she said as they both walked into the house. I looked at the slip of paper and realized she had given me a 555 number.
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Bonus Material:
When Gods Fail
I dug until my forearms knotted up and my fingers couldn't move. I had been stuck in the cave for weeks. Months perhaps. Wasn't my fault, really, I planned to spend a little more than a week in these caves, south of Portland, exploring new routes. Amazing, especially in these post-modern times, to go where no one else has gone, to be completely alone for even a few days. The plan was simple, go down, explore, map the caves and come out.
Then the earthquakes hit.
I was underneath and there were these sudden shocks. A lot of them. Stalactites fell from the ceiling above me; one crushed my watch as I protected my head with my hands. Then the slide started. I thought of running back up the route I had just come down, but dirt and rocks filled up my route up faster than I could think, and I watched as my only way out was blocked.
I wanted to cry, to scream, to be saved, but after a few hours of that I knew it was up to me. I rationed out my food, thanked the Lord that there was a running creek where I was trapped, and started the process of digging my way out.
I thought about what Carol would say if she found out what happened. She would probably ban my hobby; she never did like it. I couldn't blame her. After a few days, when the cup I had been using to scoop dirt broke, and I resorted to using my fingers, I was certain that I wouldn't want to look at another cave again.
Food was running low when I finally felt the dirt and rocks give way. I punched through to the other side and widened the hole.
I came out into the mouth of the cave. It was a room-sized, ball-shaped hall that led up to the cave's entrance on the side of a hill. I was expecting Carol to be waiting for me. After all, I was late, by several weeks, and she usually overreacted to everything. But there was no one. I didn't think anything of it, until I climbed out of the entrance.
At this point my stomach grumbled for food, and I felt weak. I knew I had a few energy bars on the dashboard of my car, and was looking forward to eating them. That's why when I saw that all the trees were gone—nothing but a few stumps and a coat of ashes coated the landscape—I couldn't fathom what lay before me. I looked to where my car should have been parked but there was nothing. I doubled checked the cave entrance. It was the right one. No doubt about that. The slope of the hill that tongued out of the cave entrance was the same shape as I remembered. The outline of the hills and mountains around me also seemed about right, except there wasn't a tree to be seen—though who really memorizes such things?
A forest fire.
Certainly conditions had been getting drier recently. That meant an accidental spark could have set this all off. How sad, I thought, that such a magnificent forest had been destroyed. I shook my head. Carol might not have been able to get out here, the place could have been closed down, or worse yet, she could have been mourning my death.
I looked at my map and made out the nearest town. I could make it there before nightfall and hopefully find a phone to call Carol. I thought of how she rested her head on my chest. I shuddered.
I walked for what seemed to be hours. I couldn't tell where the sun was because of a thick coating of clouds, but it seemed to be midday when I started. Nevertheless, as I walked through the ashes I noticed there was no burned wood smell. There really wasn't a smell, just clean air. No insects either. And, though I was certain it couldn't have been past August at the latest, it was bone-chattering cold. You would think that having been in a damp cave would have prepared me, but I was shivering by the time I saw the shipping container. It seemed to be located in an odd place, but I welcomed the sign of humanity.
I was hoping that there was some sign of life here, because I didn’t have the energy for another push over the small hill behind the container. I regretted leaving the cool waters of the cave. Never imagined I was going to want to go back in there.
I leaned on the container and jerked back when I heard a voice. It was distant, as if the container had a belly somewhere beneath the ground and I imagined victims sitting around chatting inside a beast, waiting for acid to eat them up. I rubbed my skin; it felt as if it had been burned in a full day of sun at the beach. I looked up, no way; it was dark and cold.
The voice tickled my ears again. It was in the container somewhere. It growled again; I heard distinctive fricatives and vowels of a man. I examined the shipping container. The door to the container was not locked, so I considered walking in. Perhaps not. I wasn’t certain of my precise location, but I was certainly in rural Oregon, which meant I could be infringing on someone's property without knowing it. Whatever had happened, however big the forest fire was, the people here probably wouldn’t take too kindly to city folk. I would have to be nice and polite. I knocked. The voice stopped. I waited, but nothing moved. I knocked again, this time louder. There was some movement, steps and the door moved slightly. My heart started to beat faster; it would be good to see another human being.
“Hey, shit head.”
I looked up and saw a man with a shotgun pointed at me. He was large, and was able to hold the shotgun with one hand; looked like he could fire it stiff-armed without any issues. His face was covered with an uneven bristle of dark brown hair, and his skin, though young, sagged with the signs of a man recently emaciated.
“Uhhh, hi,” I raised my hands as it seemed to be the appropriate thing to do. “Don’t mean to be trespassing on your property, sir, but do you have a phone or some food and water,” I stopped when his face broke into a sneer. I knew how sensitive these farmers could be about their property. “I didn’t mean to come here, on your property, I didn’t see any signs, and I haven’t eaten for days. So I...” I stopped again. His face had turned into a half smile. I thought that perhaps I should have introduced myself. If I just got the chance to call Carol, my wife, I could get out of here. But I needed to get to phone. “I’m Tom, I...”
He squinted at me, seemed to be looking over my body for something. Between the hard looks of this man, I could sense a kind of kindness, kinship.
The man took another moment to stare at me, then jerked and looked all around him, as if he was expecting a horde to come at him. In fact he looked around for so long, his eyes piercing every rock in the distance, resembling an archaeologist more than some country resident, that I was certain he was scared for his life. Then I thought that they must have been moonshine men, or worse, meth cookers. That would explain why he was so jittery. And if that was the truth I was in trouble. I got light-headed. Was this going to end well?
"Please," I said, exasperated that he was just staring at me like an animal.
He seemed to sense my inner plea. “Bill," he nodded his head, "pleased to meet you,” he placed the shotgun beside him and reached out his hand. I shook it.
“Tom, pleased to meet you, once again I’m sorry about trespassing on...”
“You really aren’t kiddin’ are you?” he asked with an odd expression on his face.
I looked at him. “About the trespassing?” he seemed nice, or at least willing to help.
“There is no trespassing nowadays, well,” he stopped to consider something, looking at the horizon. “Maybe territories, but that’s about it.”
“Like gangs?” I asked, incredulous that these people got into that, though with meth raging the countryside it made sense. What a shame.
He laughed at my insinuation. “Yeah, like gangs,” he snorted.
“Do you have a phone, some food, maybe water? Really, I haven’t eaten for months. Or I haven’t eaten all that much for a few months.”
Again he gave me that look. “No one has, not properly at least. You really aren’t kidding about the phone are you?”
I could not see where his questioning was going. Perhaps he was poor. If he didn’t have a phone what was I to do? “You don’t have a phone? Because if it’s money I’ll give my wife a call and we’ll reimburse you. Really, I need...”
He raised his hand to indicate that he didn’t want to hear anymore. “Where does your wife live?”
“Portland, she’ll be here in an hour and we’ll give you some money.”
I stopped because he was shaking his head, not at me but at something else that seemed to be tearing through his mind.
"You certain this isn't a joke?" he asked, staring at my eyes like I would reveal something to him.
I glanced at him, some anger boiling up. "Am I kidding? No. Are you?" I tried to tone my voice down, but something inside me wanted to scream. I took a deep breath and took my eyes off him. Another look at the shipping container and I noticed that all the paint had flaked off it and was on the ground around it. It must have been old. What was he doing living here? Meth might not have been the answer, though perhaps the chemicals did this to the container.
“Where have you been the last few months, buddy?”
I hesitated, perhaps he would hate a hiker, but I had no choice. “I was spelunking and man, you won’t believe the shit I’ve been through, but I went down some earthquakes started to shake up the ground, and wouldn’t you know it but I got trapped,” I shook my head, and could see Bill shaking his. Then he started to laugh.
“So you’ve been under a rock huh?” he shook his head in amazement, leaned his head back and roared out a laugh.
“Yeah,” I shook my head and smiled. “Luckily I had enough food to ration while I dug myself out, but I ran out a few days ago. I got out and soon I was walking until I was here,” I looked around as I spoke. “I guess there was a forest fire here? How’d it start?”
"You really aren't kidding," he laughed again. At this point, out of nowhere, I realized that I could smell him. Body odor, shit, old food. Smelled him very well. I also remembered that I hadn’t been able to smell anything else. As if the air was a vacuum; no smell of ashes—which is what I should have smelled after a forest fire—just pure air. I looked around again and thought that it was odd that not a single plane in the sky had come over in a while. My eyes rested back on Bill. His reactions were odd but he was still looking at me with concern.
“You better come in buddy, you’re not going to like what I tell you,” he reached out his hand so that I could climb up to the top.
I wasn’t certain if I should go with him. He hadn’t laughed at my misfortune, but at something unknown to me—that troubled me. Of course, once I got to the phone I could leave as quickly as possible.
“I can use your phone?”
He shook his head. “Sorry bud, there are no phones. Well, ones that work at least.”
He spoke with such a mournful voice that I felt bad for assuming that he had one. Perhaps I was being too cocky. “Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense. Then some food perhaps, and you can tell me where to get to a payphone?”
“Don’t know about the food, but... you don’t get it do you?”