Surviving the Day (12 page)

Are there any other survivors out there? There have been unsubstantiated reports of aliens escaping the carnage of the show. Fleeing in fast ships, hiding in asteroids, even deep under the surface of the planet. There are even alien sightings reported on some of the outlying worlds of our Empire!

If you are a survivor, or know of one, go to
ApocalypseMakers.com
to tell your story, sign up for our Survival Tips Newsletter, or to sign the Aliens are People Too signature drive—it's the only way we can get this on the Imperial Docket. Keep hoping, and we greatly appreciate your reviews. Spread the word and Help the Humans!

Book reviews are greatly appreciated—it's how indie authors like myself are encouraged and gain more readers. Thanks!

Matt Hart knows a little about survival—especially what not to do.

- Don't try to hike out of a Nevada desert after your motorcycle gets stuck in the mud—better to head to the lake proper and find help. #heatstroke

- Don't try to jump over the icy river in your snowmobile—you'll end up standing chest deep in it, holding the machine against the far bank while your cousin rushes back to help you. #hypothermia

- Don't turn right when driving up Squaw Mountain—that first switchback is icy, deserted, and unplowed. #stuckatmidnight

In addition to the above near-death experiences, Matt has survived a 14 foot motorcycle jump (alone, no helmet), being shot at (as a teenager, up a thirty foot tree), and having a three wheeler land atop him as he crashed onto a concrete sidewalk after a badly-thought-out jump.

And there's the snakes, the black widow, the 90 foot drop off…

Erin

I opened my eyes, barely remembering where I was. The darkness was complete, but I could hear someone breathing deeply beside me. My memories caught up quickly as I recalled the events of the past day—the zombies and the kidnappers.

The people I’d killed.

…

Would my actions in this house be considered self-defense?

It was too much to think about. I closed my eyes and counted from twenty to zero, then opened them again, staring into the dark room. I took a quick inventory. My right hand felt for my belt with the baton and machete. My left hand brushed across a flashlight. I sat up felt past the flashlight for my pack, and the guns underneath it. I felt their barrels and the bandolier, then lay back down.

Everything's here.

Plus Camo Joe. I wasn't sure how to feel about him. I knew I wanted to be with him, both to protect him and because he would protect me. I guess times of stress draw people together, but in the quiet darkness I realized he had begun to restore the only trust I'd ever had in anyone except my mom and dad since the Incident, as mom would call it.

My thoughts became jumbled as I remembered. Flashes of faces. Schoolmates, police, the school board. My defenses started to kick in, but I wanted to remember.

I forced myself to continue playing back the story, drowning out the numbers in my head that screamed for attention.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

“Come on, Erin,” called Yuriel. “It's about to start!”

“Alright, I'm coming,” said Erin, picking up her backpack and running to her friend, laughing. They held hands like best friends do and walked together into the crowded gym. The rest of the freshman class was already there, so Erin and Yuriel took seats on the front row. They turned and waved to their schoolmates; friends they hadn't seen since the end of eighth grade. Any boys in the vicinity predictably turned and looked at the two. Yuriel had hair so blonde it was almost white. The feathered look was back in style, and her hair fell gracefully around her perfect features. She smiled and boys practically fell off their benches. She tossed her head back and giggled.

Erin was in many ways a perfect contrast to Yuriel, beautiful in a different way. She was athletic where Yuriel had a movie star’s body. Her dark hair was silken, not a strand out of place. Her skin was like alabaster, clean and smooth. Yuriel sported sunburnt cheeks and cute freckles. They compared their fingernails for the tenth time that morning. They'd started a tradition the first time they painted them: trying to outdo each other the first day of school. Yuriel had bright yellow nails with a rainbow on each hand. It came together in an arc when she pressed her fingers together. Erin opted for a dark peach color with a feather on her right thumb. Her mom had taken her to a professional, and it was a hard coating that would last for weeks.

The two friends waved at people they knew, and flirted with cute boys they didn't know. Yuriel’s smile was gifted freely to anyone, while Erin’s was reserved until she laughed. Both were petite, fast friends since the fourth grade, but their popularity circle was practically infinite. Yuriel was dating an older boy, and Erin had missed her friend during the summer.

But then she might have been the one who wasn't around, spending much of her time sailing with her father. Her mother was a lawyer in some big firm, while her father was retired from the Air Force and was an occasional motivational speaker.

“Ahem!” came a voice out of the gym speakers. A slightly disheveled man stood at a small podium. “Welcome to Lincoln High School, freshman!” he said, a little too happily and a little too loudly. The noise dwindled, but there was still a remnant chattering amongst themselves, including Erin and Yuriel. “Listen up please, listen up everyone.” The two girls turned their attention to the podium, still giggling over a shared joke. A row of teachers stood behind the man.

“Behind me are your teachers, whom I'm certain you'll all get along well. The teaching experience behind me represents over two hundred years of experience.”

Erin nudged Yuirel and giggled.

Neither of them noticed one of the teachers staring at them.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

It wasn't Yuriel’s fault, and it wasn't my fault, but Yuriel blamed herself. The only person to blame was Rilky. My face felt like it was on fire as I remembered his name.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

A whistle blew, loud in the enclosed gym. “Alright everyone, bring the basketballs over here and hit the showers.” Erin and Yuriel laughed and bounced their balls as they headed toward the gym teacher, surrounded by a gaggle of boys, strutting and tripping over themselves to get the girls’ attention. As they neared the rollable shelves for the balls, Yuriel missed her dribble; the ball tripping Erin and slamming her to the floor. The gym teacher rushed over as Erin lay facedown on the hardwood of the basketball court. He started to gently roll her over, but his eyes went wide as he saw her ripped shirt. He turned her back facedown and looked around at the students behind him. It didn't seem like any of them saw it.

“Everyone except you, young lady, hit the showers.” The students muttered among themselves as they walked off. “What was your name again?” asked the teacher.

“Yuriel, Mr. Rilky.”

“Okay, I want you to help me get this young lady to my office. She's had a bad fall, possibly a concussion.” The teacher slid his hand beneath Erin, running his hand across her body and pulling up the torn shirt, and then turned her over, his thick, squat frame hiding his actions from Yuriel. He lifted her to his shoulder. He was short enough to carry her comfortably. Yuriel took her other shoulder and they carried her to the teacher’s office.

“Why did you throw that ball at her, Yuriel?” he asked casually as they walked Erin to the office.

“I… What? No, I, I just missed…”

“I understand it might have been just for fun, but you've seriously injured this young girl,” he said. They went through a door and the teacher paused for a moment to press a button on the edge of the door.

“It was an accident, Mr. Rilky, honest!” cried Yuriel. “I didn't mean to trip her!”

“Oh I'm sure you didn't mean it,” said the teacher in a calm, cold voice. “But I'm going to have to call an ambulance, and they'll have to involve the police.” The two reached the office, and the teacher pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door.

“But, but I…” stammered Yuriel.

“Look,” said the teacher, “it'll be alright. I don't know what the other kids will say to the police, but I'll be sure to tell them you didn't mean to trip her, okay?” He cupped Yuriel’s chin and lifted her tear-streaked face. “It’ll be okay,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you, Mr. Rilky,” said Yuriel, choking back sobs. The teacher walked over to his desk and picked up the phone, then dialed some numbers. He looked back at Yuriel.

“Go ahead and take your shower, I'll call the nurse first and see what she says. Maybe we don't need an ambulance after all.” Yuriel nodded her head and walked out of the office, terrified and crying, her thoughts jumbled. She was afraid she'd hurt her best friend, afraid she'd get in trouble, afraid that the other kids thought she'd done it on purpose. She pushed open the door to the gym and turned and went to the lockers.

Behind her, the door to the office closed, and the lock clicked shut.

Yuriel walked quickly to the girl’s locker room. “What happened, is she alright?” asked a tall redhead. Yuriel looked up and the girls around her gasped as they saw her tear-streaked face,

“Mr. Rilky called the nurse, he thinks she'll be alright,” said Yuriel in a detached voice. She walked to her locker and opened it, took out her clothes bag and carried it to the showers, still crying.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

I lay with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling, then turned and stared at the covered windows, remembering. I had woken up in his office, my eyes covered, a hot, foul breath in my face. My mind was foggy, and I don't remember too much. I felt hands on me, and I reached up and scratched and clawed and heard a voice cry out in pain. I kicked and screamed and tore at the blindfold, lifting it enough to see the gym teacher, clutching himself in pain. I stood up and tried to run, but tripped before I could reach the door. I looked down in horror as I realized I was dressed only in my underwear, my pants tripping me. A hand grabbed me from behind and I grasped at it, clawing and screaming. The voice cried out in pain again and released me. I pulled up my pants and ran from the office, screaming.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

I took a deep breath and sighed, then turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. The prosecutor said I was “lucky” that the police were contacted so quickly. “Lucky” that I hadn't washed my hands. “Lucky” that my fingernails were so strong from the recent nail job. “Lucky” that Willibrette J. Rilky was damaged in, “shall we say, compromised places on his body?”

The prosecutor had the audacity to smile at me. “DNA match from your fingernails, description of the attack, everything fits like a neat little puzzle.”

Mr. Rilky got charged with all kinds of things. My mom said he'd be a “level three sex offender” for the rest of his life. My dad said that wouldn't be very long.

They had a few arguments about it—the only time I ever heard a cross word between them. I think my dad planned to kill him somehow.

It didn't matter in the end.

I turned over again and stared at the window, barely outlined in the darkness, a tiny bit of light supplied by the clear night sky. I thought about the sky for a moment. My favorite thing to do at night on the boat was to stare at the reflected moonlight when the water was calm. If we were close to shore, the noise of a boat horn would sometimes interrupt the quiet slapping of the water on the boat, carried over the water for miles until it was a single low note, diminishing in the distance but never completely going away.

Rilky was convicted of murder, or manslaughter or something, third or fourth degree, I forget which one. Yuriel killed herself two days after the Incident, and my mom and the prosecutor were able to cast the blame on him. The police had deposed my friend; neither her parents nor me had been allowed to accompany her. My mom was able to go as “her lawyer”, but wasn't able to help her much.

She blamed herself.

Rilky ended up housed with the general population, his murder trial occurring before the sexual assault trial. The other prisoners knew what he did though, and he was found dead in his cell one night, apparent suicide. He was a coward, my dad told me, and likely it was another prisoner that did him in.

He said they don't tolerate child molesters, and it was only chance that he'd ended up housed in the general population.

I closed my eyes and willed the memories forward; focusing only on the martial arts I had started almost immediately. I was excused from gym, so I practiced. I ate lunch quickly and practiced. After school, I practiced. On weekends, I practiced.

Always practicing.

My breathing slowed as I went through the mental motions of my forms, from white belt to second degree black, concentrating on each hand position, knee bent at the right angle, shoulders squared.

I fell back to sleep at the “Diamond” form.

---   ---   ---   ---   ---

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