Fred Mason was indeed more stubborn than most, but in that moment he’d begun realizing that Kim and Megan might have been right all along. The possibility that his sons had been captured and were now prisoners in a post-collapse internment camp was sound, and if accurate, it was the worst-case scenario, as there was seemingly nothing in his power that could be done to retrieve them, barring an act of God.
Megan tracked her father as he moved stealthily in to rejoin her. She studied him and the sullen, grieved look on his face behind the night vision, squinting at the eerie green halo surrounding him.
Taking a seat to his daughter’s left, Fred arranged his ghillie suit like a blanket around his and her shoulders. He took hold of the canteen she handed him, jostled it, and unscrewed the top, then thanked her before sniffing the contents. “Ah…two parts hydrogen, one oxygen. Beneficial for the body and soul, but not the greatest analgesic in the world,” he groaned, taking a drink and cringing over sore muscles and joints. “So much for rehab.”
“Rehab is important, but not as much as rehydrating,” replied Meg with a shiver. “You know that, Dad, and you should know our routine by now. Water is always first before anything else.”
“Still trying to haul me off the wagon, I see.”
“That isn’t what I’m doing.”
Fred snorted and jested, “Sure you’re not. It’s your lie, Meg. Tell it how you want.”
“I’m not lying…I don’t lie.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” Megan shook her head. “I mean, I don’t now…not anymore.”
Fred puckered his lips before taking a sip. “I suppose we could be rationing, then. Have we depleted our hooch reserves?”
“No, we have plenty. And stop debating…you can have some of your hooch, but only after you’ve hydrated…and after I assess your pain.”
Fred sighed, “Very well,” then tipped the canteen and drank.
Megan watched him, tilting her head. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, the usual. Sore as hell and stiff as the ice I’ve been slipping on all evening. And…old. Very, very old, Meg.” Fred hesitated. “And I imagine it likely now that we didn’t bring nearly enough magic juice to alleviate the pain I’m feeling.”
Megan slid her knees beneath her and unfolded, reaching for her pack and the container of narcotic pain medication tablets inside. “What do you mean? Is it a familiar pain or something new? Did you reinjure something?”
Fred waved off his daughter’s concern with the kindest eyes he could muster. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Inching closer, Megan dumped a pair of oblong pills in her palm. “If you’re hurting, you should take something for it. I’m supposed to manage your intake of these, but if moonshine isn’t enough and you need them, you should take them.”
Fred squinted at his daughter’s open hand. “I am hurting. And, at the moment, surprisingly enough, not all of it’s physical. I’m not sure they’ll help much, but I’ll give them a go since you offered.” He took one of the pills, forsaking its twin, and swallowed it down. “I know a lot’s been on my mind and I’ve probably overlooked it, but I’m glad you’re here, Meg. I appreciate it and I appreciate what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it.”
Megan bleakly smiled and returned the remaining pill to the vial of others.
“I went through every house on that street, the ones I could, anyway. Most of them were torched, like some psycho pyromaniac invited himself to a community barbeque with a truckload of Molotovs.” Fred sighed. “I didn’t find much of anything down there besides a neighborhood transformed into a derelict war zone. Hard to believe something like that could even exist on the domestic front.”
Megan looked concerned. “It looked bad from the outside.”
Fred nodded. “I guess I can envision what might’ve happened…I’ve seen enough residential streets turned into combat zones to know what collateral damage looks like. But what I saw down there compares to and nearly surpasses the worst urban upheavals these eyes have ever beheld.” He pointed through the trees, indicating a line of snowy rooftops in the distance, now being slowly overtaken by freezing fog. “I went inside the one four driveways from the entrance, crept down the hall, and found a…family in bed together, or what’s left of them, anyway. None of them looked like they’d taken a breath in a long time. It was like they just gave up, curled into bed, and fell asleep together one day and woke up as cadavers.” Fred sniffled. “A…child’s body was swaddled in a blanket in the middle, couldn’t’ve been more than a month or two old. The room was ransacked, as was the rest of the house. Folks must’ve let themselves in and had at their stuff. Guess they figured the homeowners wouldn’t mind.”
“Jesus,” said Megan, looking repulsed.
“That’s pretty much what I said. I checked a few other homes and didn’t find much of anything. At the edge of the cul-de-sac though, there’s this big one…larger than most others on the street and still intact, amazingly enough. I went in and found some strange stuff inside, like faded red stains on the carpets and hardwood. One room had red spatter all over everything and multiple holes about the size of a human head punched in the walls. At first glance, it looked like someone might’ve produced a snuff film, but the closer I looked, the more it looked like the real deal. There were…long strands of hair stuck in the cracks. I won’t speculate further, but being there gave me chills.”
Megan turned away, a hand to her chest. “It’s giving me anxiety hearing you talk about it.” She reached for her pack again and presented a second canteen.
Fred grinned uncomfortably at her. “Good timing,” he said, then unscrewed the
