Spring 2000
Mexico
The highway was a scattered graveyard of stopped cars and trucks, either fried from an electromagnetic pulse or bled of gas after being running for so long in the traffic jam.
The crowded road was one of the reasons William Candy and his small companion were on foot.
"Why didn't we go with Steve and Nancy, Billy?"
Candy pulled his blackened camouflage jacket tightly closer, keeping his head down against the sudden blow of wind, then shifted his silvery grizzled face to his tiny seven-year-old companion.
"Because I don't think it's safe, Emily."
The little orphan frowned. "But why did they go?"
Candy shrugged. "Working factories have jobs, which would mean food and a home."
It was not hard for Emily to do the math. "So why didn't we go?" She moaned.
"Because," Candy sighed painfully, "I thought it was too good to be true. You know the story of Hansel and Gretal?"
Emily arched her eyebrows questioningly and shook her head.
Candy remembered his mother, back in their home country, telling it to him in their tiny cold apartment in East Berlin, to help him sleep. "A brother and sister are lost in the forest, and hungry, and they find a house, made out of candy and gingerbread."
Emily's eyes grew wide. The beauty of young imagination. "That sounds yummy."
A sly smile crept onto Candy's face, just like the same way his mother told the story to him. "But…the house belonged to a witch, who invited the children inside to eat more, only for them to find out…she was going to eat them."
"Did she eat them?"
Candy shook his head in amusement. "No. Just as she tricked them, they tricked her and escaped."
Emily turned back to the road, her face doused in confusion. "So…why can't we go to the factory? Is there a witch there?"
Candy sighed. "The point of the story is that sometimes, some things are too good to be true, that sometimes someone is only being nice to trick you. And that's why I don't trust the factory."
Before the little girl could say anything more, Candy held a hand up signaling for her to stop. He had found a possible place for them to make camp for the night.
It was a drab, raw husk of an old school bus. The yellow paint was nearly white from the elements.
After parking their squeaky K-mart cart, Candy pulled open the split doors and climbed inside, scoping it out. A strong stench hit his nose. He quickly found the source, a pair of bodies, dressed in similar rags, huddled next to each other. From the looks of it, they had died in their sleep, either from illness, starvation, the cold weather, or all three. He grabbed them by their clothes, one by one, and hoisted them out the back door, to make the space a little more sanitary. Death was so routine by now, it was a novelty to remember that such an act was considered sacrilegious in an earlier time.
Satisfied there was no threat, Candy made his way back to the doors and held them open for the tiny seven-year-old, who per standard procedure was bringing bags of supplies from their cart, out of reach of sneaky scavengers. The bags were getting lighter every day.
She got up the stairs, only to stop and gag.
"It stinks in here."
Candy was struck with irritation, until he paused and reminded himself that she was a child, and that unlike him prior to the nukes, she had not signed up for this.
"I know, but it'll keep us warm for the night."
Little Emily nodded and stroked the flattened Cookie Monster doll in her grasp, sensing it needed comforting, before shuddering in her oversized winter jacket. She looked for a place to sit while he went through the rows looking for any food or anything else of use.
"What were they doing to her?"
Candy turned around, surprised and confused by her question. "What was who doing to who?"
"The bad guys we hid from. What were they doing to the mommy and her little boy?"
This was one of the unpredictable challenges that cropped up now and then for Candy. He thought for half a second. "Tickled them. Tickled them too hard." It was a bizarre and awful answer, but it was better than the truth for now.
Emily absentmindedly nodded as she turned from him to the seats facing them, like she was browsing a toy store. It was clear she did not believe him, but was not interested in the truth.
Once she had eaten her ration for the night (an already half-eaten apple) and curled up next to him, Candy pulled a gas station roadmap out of his backpack, along with a pen and a small flashlight, to mark their progress. A bullet-ridden sign earlier listed Nuevo León. It showed they were making progress. Besides the highway corresponding to the map, Candy had only his compass to guide them, since the sun and its light was still blotted out by the clouds and the mess kicked up into the air.
Mexico, while not a target of nukes, had lasted little longer Camp Lone Star 12 before losing centralized control and collapsing into splintered states, which also fell into anarchy and slaughter. This was illustrated with his map of the southern neighbor to the US, marked with circles over the big cities, which he knew to avoid. The pair had been lucky a week ago out on the outskirts of a large city, when they successfully hid from a roving truck, loaded with gun-wielding men with frightening face paint. Candy watched them shoot an old man trying to hobble away before grabbing his corpse. He had wondered for a moment what they wanted with the dead man, until his gaze wandered from the skinny frames of the gunmen to a set of smoke stacks in the dark city skyline, belching black smoke.
It was a shit show, everywhere.
"Where are we going, Billy?"
Candy turned to the little girl, feigning paternal irritation. "You are supposed to be asleep, young lady."
She looked up at him with inquisitive brown eyes, brushing aside some of her stringy brown hair. "But I wanna know. Where we goin'?"
Candy could not help smiling. "Come on, Emily, you know where we're going. Why do you keep asking?"
The little girl shrugged, lifting the top edges of her jacket slightly. "I just like hearing it."
The older man smiled warmly and set the flashlight and map down. "We are going," he began, with a tone like he was telling a bedtime story, "down south. As far south as we can, until it's warm, so warm we don't have to wear these big jackets."
A little smile crept up on Emily's face. "And there'll be food?"
Candy knew it was a mistake to indulge this, setting them up for disappointment, but for now, what the hell. "Yes, there'll be food. More food than you can eat."
"Including a McDonald's? Where I can get a Happy Meal?"
"If they have one down there, yes. You're going to have a Happy Meal, and I'm going to have a Quarter-Pounder, with bacon and lettuce and tomato and cheese." His mouth watered at the memory of such delicacies.
"And we won't have to eat people, like the city people do?"
That brought Candy back to earth. "Yes, sweetie, we won't eat people." He then got an idea. "How about I check the radio again?"
Emily nodded.
He pulled out his metal olive-drab radio and twisted the knob. A swirl of static came out of the battered speaker, punctuated by words. Both man and child were anxious upon hearing this, a possible sign of civilization. Granted, the radio had terrific range, so this could be from almost anywhere in the continent.
"…have all lost so very much, so many loved ones dead, either to the nukes of Judgment Day or to the inhumanity of our fellow man."
They were words in English, not Spanish. It was a young voice, like a teenager, but even through the crinkled static there was experience and wisdom in that voice.
Intrigued, and hungry for something positive, both Candy and Emily hushed up and listened with bated breath.
"Please know, you are not alone. There are bad people roaming around, preying on the helpless and weak, but there are good people too, holing up and consolidating resources. And trust me when I say, it's going to get worse before it gets better. The night may be darkest just before the dawn, but I promise you, the dawn is coming.
"This is John Connor. If you're listening to this, you are the Resistance."
With that, the transmission ceased. Candy was glad that Emily could not see the tears in his eyes. It was the pep talk he needed for the longest time. He wanted to believe the young man, that it could and would get better. Despite his natural pessimism and experiences, there was a kind of quiet conviction in Connor's voice that convinced him.
Maybe they would be alright.