Rain

By Bryan P. Hughes

In an apocalyptic look at a future that never was; Rain takes you into the life of a select few survivors who live in a world where water is so scarce it no longer falls from the skies.
Lakes and rivers are dried up in this reality where the living cling to life by placing their beliefs in whatever helps them hold on. Often killing each other in search of water. Safety is found in numbers and behind the barrel of a gun, or nowhere at all.
The story's focus is around a hero who is on the brim of insanity. This man tries to maintain his grip of reality and bring back life to a world that has been turned into a vision of carnage when all others have accepted it as hell.
Can he really bring back the rain, or is he truly just accepting his inevitable death as he leads his small group north? Join the last days of his long struggle; through love, death, bullets and fire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491868560

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© 2014 BRYAN P. HUGHES. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/21/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6855-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6856-0 (e)

Library of Congress Conrol Number: 2014903615

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedicated To:

Chapter: 1 Hope

Chapter: 2 The First of the Last Days

Chapter: 3 Bryan the Infamous

Chapter: 4 Hot Day

Chapter: 5 Hot Night

Chapter: 6 Waking Up

Chapter: 7 The Beginning of a Bad Day

Chapter: 8 When to Speak, When to Listen

Chapter: 9 Memories Unleashed

Chapter: 10 On the Way to the End of the World

Chapter: 11 Looking for Death

Chapter: 12 July 27th, 2009

Chapter: 13 By a Snake in the Forest

Chapter: 14 Cheryl

About The Author

DEDICATED TO:

My Nana, Maria Kois. Who always; even if unintentionally, reminded me that there is still good in me; I love you, and thank you.

CHAPTER: 1

HOPE

F our years since the storm; four years and not a single drop of rain.

A great storm covered the globe in 2005, and billions were slaughtered in the destruction. The storm was unmatched in its ferocity; raging tornadoes that ripped apart buildings, massive bolts of lightning that burnt entire house in the blink of an eye, winds that flipped ocean liners and brought the tops of mountains crashing to the devastated land below. There were explosions from nuclear reactors struck by the megaton bolts and reactions by militaries to the storm as if it were Armageddon, warheads launched in fear by fools who claimed it was Gods will or some righteous purpose, leading to the end result which was, in fact; a worldwide apocalypse. So few survivors now remain it is rare to see a person outside of the ones you know, but not nearly as rare as it is to find water.

An alley half there with buildings crushed around it and a young man sitting against one wall staring at another just in front of him. Prematurely balding hair and deep blue eyes define his face more than his badly shaved beard. He’s Holding a glass bottle as empty as the skies, and who believes he can bring the water back.

The stones look like they’ve had more to drink than me. Just pissing me off on purpose is what they’re doing. Stupid stones, His name is Bryan and he’s speaking to a motionless object as would seem his favorite pastime. Holding this bottle that’s been empty for four weeks, Screw you; you stupid soulless bricks!

The bottle flies and shatters against the already battered brick wall two feet in front of him. He reaches his arms to guard his face as a few shards fly back at him. Wisdom seeming to be a small part of his mind he stands and sighs speaking aloud to nothing and no one in particular, That was my favorite fucking bottle too.

He looks up into the sky as the clouds hide from sight like every day before. The smile on his face as he lops his beaten shotgun over his shoulder and starts to walk helps the other survivors in his small town remember he’s crazy. He carries a worn novelty short sword in a self-made harness at his side he keeps sharp enough to do what it’s there for.

The aftermath of the great storm has left groups of individuals in a not so sane state of mind. Many people have taken to following cults or just become ‘water hunters’; attacking other survivors and stealing supplies. None of these groups or individuals has taken a drop from Bryan’s town in two years, because of him. So as crazy as he is the people in his town look to him as a leader, at least in a way. They follow his laws, and react to his actions… few bother to attempt communication with him. There is a fear inside of their hearts and an uncertainty if they speak the wrong words he will put his blade into them. A foolish self made fear, but it seems well warranted; when a single man is responsible for the protection of a few and yet the cause of the death of so many; it is hard to find reason not to be afraid of such an individual.

Bryan? Another man about the same age as Bryan walks up to him. The man stands above him a few inches, short black hair and glasses, a small scar on his cheek and a smile that most might call charming. Why the hell do you carry that shotgun around town with you? We haven’t been attacked since you got that lucky bottle of yours.

Look, Kenny. Me and the bottle… well… it went up against an old enemy of mine and; it won’t be back. I’m sorry, Bryan puts his head down as they walk down the street. All around them ruins of what was once a busy city stands in shambles. Much like Kenny would think the mind of his friend has.

You’ve really friggin’ snapped haven’t you? Kenny laughs as Bryan looks up and smirks.

Nah… I can still walk man. I’ll tell you what though. These once a day drinks are slowly killing off the world around us. The people are starting to get weak. What was that old man’s calculation? We have enough stock to last us forty people for twelve years. If that’s the case… how come the stock looks so low? Bryan walks to the front of his house. Standing in front of his door he reaches in his pocket for the keys.

Nobody thought the drought would last. Nobody thought the rivers and lakes would dry up. I’m damn sure no one thought the oceans would begin to recede. The worlds dying man; you’re the only bastard I know taking that one drink a day thing seriously anyways… and why the hell do you lock your door? Kenny shakes his head as Bryan’s key hits the key hole. The crackling of steel sliding into steel sings. The lock opens and Bryan walks in. All the walls are down to about two feet and only the door still stands intact with a solid door frame. A simple step over would find you inside, the need for a door itself is pondering.

Bryan opens his arms and speaks in his best English accent, Welcome to my castle knight. This here be my throne, he points to his couch and then to his table where the name ‘The Simpsons’ is drawn on a large piece of cardboard in yellow crayon, that be my flag. Sit… let us speak of our travels.

You are fucking insane, Kenny laughs and they sit down staring into the empty blue sky.

The batteries are still good at least, Bryan speaking in his usual tone reaches over and puts on some music.

It is a great CD, Kenny continues to stare into the blue above them.

You think she’ll come over today? Bryan rolls his head to the right and looks at Kenny. Bryan has a blank look about his face.

Does she ever? Kenny answers with a smile.

No. Not since the storm, Bryan looks back at the sky. His music is blasting.

She used to come over… but always for the same reason right? Kenny shakes his head and looks back into the empty blue above them.

We’ve done this before? Bryan raises one eyebrow still staring upward, leaning back on his couch.

Everyday… Kenny chuckles and rubs the hair or lack of it on Bryans head then stands up, How ’bout today you go over there?

I do that enough. She’s probably tired of me, Bryan sits forward… his shotgun now on the table… short sword still at his side.

Everybody’s tired of everybody Bryan. Besides… if she didn’t want you to go over she’d say so. She is pretty adamant… Kenny reaches his hand out, Let’s go.

Bryan stands up and a child about nine years old with curly short black hair and big brown eyes opens the door and runs into the room. Bryan! Bryan! There’re people in the town and they’ve got guns! They’re demanding all of our water! The kid is crying and standing directly in front of Bryan. Bryan grabs his gun, checks the barrel; looks at Kenny and shows four fingers. Kenny nods and heads out intending to grab Bryan more ammo. Bryan starts out the door and the kid goes to follow him.

Hey! Bryan stops the kid with his hand on the boy’s chest, Devon, keep your ass right there! Don’t let anybody through this door except me and I got the key. You understand!?

Um… yeah, but… Devon’s speech is cut off as Bryan starts jogging forward to the sound of gun shots.

Oh, yeah! Knock next time! Bryan yells and Devon raises his brow.

Don’t let anyone through the door… ? Devon looks around the house, There’s no walls…

Most hunting parties have migrated north or south; just like the groups of survivors. In the aftermath the most common group to run into is usually a raiding party. Women, water, food, they’ll kill anything to get them. They drive a fear into those who retain their humanity. The town doesn’t feel that fear like most. In fact, once they see Bryan coming, they merely stand with anticipation, curiosity. How will he kill them?

Bryan jogs up as four of the people in his town are on their knees at the hands of two men holding pistols. Behind the two men are three more men wielding close combat weapons. One holding a large, poorly crafted axe and the other’s holding bats wrapped in barbwire.

Bryan smirks… the invaders look at him like he’s a fool. He speaks, There’s only five of you! I don’t need more ammo for five of you. You sure you don’t have any more?

Who the hell is this? Who the hell are you?! Did you hear what we said!? Give us all your water… put down your weapon and we might let all of you live, The larger man in front speaks. His gun is at the female’s head of the four hostages. As he goes to raise his gun Bryan coughs and his face goes pale for a moment.

Bryan sets the shotgun down to his left side turning slightly. His right side and hand barely visible from the angle of the men; his right hand grasps his short sword and from behind the harness at his hip he pulls out a small steel ball with tiny spikes. He snaps his wrist back toward the man holding the girl hostage, hurling the ball into the fingers of the gunman’s left hand, the hand which holds the gun. The gun drops and this ‘first’ gunman does not get time to react before Bryan fires his shotgun.

For as quickly as the ball had left his hand Bryan’s shotgun is up and aiming at the only other man holding a gun, it fires nearly simultaneously. The shot kills the man and Bryan allows the shot to spin him left, dropping his shotgun immediately and drawing his short sword with the same hand during the turn. Now, facing the men threatening his town; he then takes one step with his right foot and leaps toward them throwing his short sword into the chest of the man whom he had flung the tiny steel ball at.

The invaders are not yet sure exactly what’s occurred. The gun men are both dead now. Two of the three men around the hostages run at Bryan, the girl that had a gun pointed at her head grabs the fallen pistol from the gunman who was holding her and runs to the side; leaving the other gun on the ground. None of the townspeople move in to assist Bryan. However, the third man who has the axe chases after the girl.

In two long, fast strides, Bryan has his right hand on his short sword, pulls it out of the dying gunman’s chest and stabs it into the gut of the fool on the right charging at him. He then spins clockwise around the body of this man, pulling out his sword ruggedly and fast, never having let go of the blade from the initial stab. Ripping pieces from inside the man to the dry ground, Bryan doesn’t flinch; he merely hurls his sword as fast as he can into the back of the man with an axe that is chasing the girl.

That man falls struggling to hold on to life; not yet dying but unable to move from his now fetal and peril condition on the dirt. The girl reaches the other townspeople as some watch on and others look away.

Bryan rolls to his left avoiding a swing by the remaining raider and grabs the barb wire bat with his right hand, taking it out of the hands of the man he had gutted whose insides are now decorating the gravel. Without a pause to his flow of motions Bryan rolls backwards giving himself some distance from the last man who has turned to face him. Bryan stands firmly pointing the bat at the remaining invader and this individual looks around at his fallen comrades, fearfully taking two steps back closer to the outskirts where the townspeople watch from.

Mic Foley used to use these things like a pro. You know who that is? He was a famous wrestler, and I hope he’s kicking around somewhere. I’d still like to meet him, Bryan looks the bat over, Though this is probably a more dangerous version of his invention.

You’re fucking nuts, The man looks at him and then at the second gun on the ground. The other three hostages still on the ground covering their heads peer up and take off to the side of the encounter ignoring the weapons on the ground. The man pays great attention to the fact there is still a loaded handgun not far away.

I’m not fucking anything these days, might be my problem, Bryan chuckles a bit, and then points his finger at the man. Don’t do it. Go home, or wherever you came from, but don’t do that.

The man hurls his bat at Bryan with both hands and jumps to the gun. Bryan lifts his right hand parallel to his head yet slightly in front of it, using his bat as a shield. When the flying bat gets close enough to make contact he slashes the bat downward toward his right as one would a sword and deflects the weapon easily. He then takes one big step with his left foot and leaps into the air landing behind the man squarely on his feet with the tip of the barb wire bat against the back of his enemy’s neck. The man stops for a moment with the gun in his right hand, crouched on his knees as he’d just grabbed it, and then he falls flat trying to turn around mid-fall and shoot Bryan.

Bryan moves the bat toward the right hand of the man, before the man can even grasp the trigger firmly or fully turn around. Bryan then pushes the barb wire on the bat into the front of the man’s fingers that are trying to hold the gun. The razor sharp wire rips into the man’s skin. His grasp on the gun opens and his hand instinctively returns with his right arm to his chest in pain as Bryan lifts the bat up. The man’s fingers cringe and bleed out, and he manages to roll just once to his right over the gun in desperation as if to escape and run from this place he’s wandered into. Bryan steps toward him and smashes the bat with both hands into the side of the water hunter’s skull. The bat breaks in half; the bottom remains in Bryan’s left hand now, and the top stays embedded into the raider’s cranium.

Bryan stands looking at the body then at the broken bat; he tosses it aside and walks over shouldering his shotgun. His eyes are watery but he speaks as if nothing’s wrong, Put the pistols in the new barracks! Bury these bodies in the raider’s graveyard. Oh, and try to ration one drink a day! Liquid is getting scarce! I better not catch anyone drinking more than one damn drink! He starts walking off as the remaining survivors of his town look at each other.

They go toward the bodies and begin lifting them up. The man with the wound in his back has no life left in him; his gurgling and cries for help were beginning to grow eerie as the battle went on. The intruders are all dead and motionless now.

There are only thirteen survivors in Bryan’s town not including himself; most of them are standing around this scene. A woman and the boy Devon are not present currently. The ones here try to get all the bodies at once. The young lady, who grabbed the gun, (she’s just fifteen years old, red hair and green eyes), looks to an older man who’s carrying a body by himself. (He’s a tall man with a shiny bald head, bad teeth and light blue eyes.)

She speaks, I know the barracks was destroyed two years ago, so where does he expect me to put these?

The man looks at her and smiles saying, Aren’t you used to him by now? You practically grew up with it. Just put the guns in front of his house later, oh, and don’t talk to him about the barracks Jessie.

Yeah… I guess sometimes I just remember him like he was. When he saves me it makes me forget how… anyways, we’re still burying these guys in the graveyard right, Tom? Jessie, still talking to this tall older man named Tom, helps two young women carry a body following Tom through the havoc ridden streets of what was once a downtown area of a growing city.

Yep, that one we can still do, Tom leads these corpse carrying inhabitants of Bryan’s city as they all carry the bodies to a cemetery with a big sign marked, ‘Intruders’. In front of an old crumbled church another graveyard sits with a different sign… it reads; ‘Our Friends’.

Who’s going to bring his sword back to his house? A teenage boy walking beside Jessie speaks up. The youth is bald and his waist is just as thin as the rest of them.

You just volunteered Eric, thanks. Jessie, your boyfriend is pretty brave, Tom smiles. The girls with her laugh a bit, Jessie shakes her head looking at him.

Big, brave, Eric; have fun, Jessie waves as Eric looks back at the sword now on the ground and swallows air.

Better put it back before he gets finished talking to Cheryl, Eric says it and starts toward the sword quickly.

The other townspeople continue in front of the churches. Next to Tom is another older woman with short black hair and green eyes, his wife, Mira. Behind them are four girls, Celia, Hope, Amy and Dana. They are young adults, all generally thin but healthy with short hair. The other teenagers are Jessie and her boyfriend Eric, lastly there’s Gina and her boyfriend Torin. (All carrying the bodies of the dead men.) Torin pauses for a moment to look into the graveyard of their friends, rubbing his freshly shaved head.

Not now Torin, Gina nudges him onward. Her hair short and black and her glasses gently reflecting the sunlight back onto Torin’s face.

Sorry Gina, it just always gets me, how we never really… Torin starts to talk and Gina kisses his cheek.

Come on, Gina motions that the body is too heavy for her and he helps lift it up and keeps walking on.

There’s a good distance between all the remaining buildings in this town, but the only buildings with roofs besides the church are few and far between. Even the church’s roof is only what was left of its second floor. Its staple standing through the storm was a rare feat, but it doesn’t gather much faith or hope from the remnants. Few look skyward for God, when eyes reach the heavens, it is in search of cloud and cloud alone.

A gentle second story perch could give a person a view of the entirety of this miniature city. A cavern beneath where once was some streaming water keeping these people alive is nearly dry and the small fish they were trying to raise there grow less and less in number. The world outside looks for bottles and few find such benefits as this. Those that come here have no knowledge of it, and Bryan himself has forgotten of it completely. For reasons beyond the people’s control he has fallen into his own world, and that world where he lives may be the only reason they still have lives; so they dare not take him out of it.

There is rarely wind, and when it comes it is often treated like a sweet pleasure. Many would run out and lift their heads up to feel the spurt of air, knowing in their hearts, somewhere on the planet, though unfound, there are clouds, and that is enough to keep many going.

Most, like these townspeople, keep going for simpler purposes. For the ties they’ve made after the storm. The love they’ve garnered, the family they’ve built with those who share in their struggle. That has always been a driving force of survival; those around us.

The townspeople start digging the graves together. Retaining what’s left of their humanity, in the simple form of burying the dead.

Bryan is walking off toward a heavily clustered part of the city where rubble is pretty much everywhere. Stone, steel and wooden debris is stacked next to an old bank that still has four walls. They are only partially what they were, not much higher than six feet now, they have reinforced the inside of the walls with some bracing and light construction, making them the sturdiest in town, above ground that is. The original roof is destroyed, but it now has a long plate of aluminum covered in cloth as a roof, a few holes let sunlight in.

The rubble piled up next to the bank is a memorial for all the ones killed in the storm. It has a flag above it, a white flag with a hospital sign, Bryan refused to represent any country after the storm, or allow anyone else to represent a country.

Inside the building is a radio with a huge antenna meant to respond to signals anywhere else in the world. An old man who survived in his basement built it a year ago. The old man also built a machine that only Bryan knows how to use. It took him three years to make the machine, one week to make the radio and one bullet to end his own life. You could say he was a blessing that had a warranty. Bryan enters the bank.

Bryan… I’d figure you to have come by earlier. I heard gunshots though… what happened? The voice speaking is a young woman around the same age as Bryan. Her thick black hair hangs just past her shoulders and her light brown eyes flutter behind her long dark lashes. She stands up just a bit shorter than Bryan and looks right at him.

She was sitting down playing solitaire while watching a movie on a TV set. She pretends to know nothing of what transpired, but it is an easy guess, and Bryan always comes to her after a fight.

How come you have power here again? And uh… where’d you find the tapes, or the television? Shit… where’d you find the VCR? Bryan sits tossing his shotgun on a chair next to a bed in the middle