I’m finally getting back to my dystopian, post-apocalyptic collection. I’ve spent the last several weeks finishing and completing the first pass edit of a new fantasy novel (first in a series) and needed a break. Some might think that as a writer, ‘needing a break’ would mean doing something completely different. And sometimes that does mean working in my garden, going for a walk with my bulldogs, cooking a Sunday roast. But most often, a break means writing something different.
Yesterday I spent the day sketching out a new story. It came to me while driving home looking out at all the flooded fields. Turns out its a romantasy. I will never stray too far from my home genres of fantasy and sci-fi, so a little foray into the world of romantasy feels natural, daring, and a little risky. Maybe I’ll post the opening chapter as an interlude to the Campfire Tales. I haven’t decided yet.
Mostly, I think I’m procrastinating about writing my query letters and synopsis for my fantasy novel. That’s what I really should be doing. But it felt good to get back to the Campfire and shed some new light (pun totally intended) on where they are and how the group is growing.
I hope you enjoy this next installment of The Campfire Tales.
Scratch
(Part 1)
The trail of caravans, pickup trucks and cars rolled into the empty campsite as the sky donned a purple and orange cloak fringed with fiery yellow rays. The darkening mantle of night was quickly approaching and with it came the potential for Raptors. I had found that it was best to be well secured for the night before dark fall was deepest. Wink had warned her of that. She missed him. She had grown accustomed to his coming and going ways. He’d appear one day carrying supplies, gifts and most importantly news. Stay for a few days getting acquainted with any newcomers, reconnecting with those who were still with us, and making me laugh.
Scratch had joined us about a week ago. She was distant, reserved and kept close to her wife. They were inseparable and worked well together. Especially when treating the animals. Jo was her Watson while she Sherlocked the mystery of her patients. We had collected a menagerie of animals along the way. It all started with the chickens in Quartzite. Snag was determined to take them with us. He and Wink cobbled together a sort of coop on wheels. They stripped a caravan of its interior human comforts, threw down a bunch of straw collected from a farmer’s barn, moved in the coop, and penned it off from the driver’s compartment. They had made the first known mobile chicken coop and were rather proud of it.
We met Sammy and Orchid in a small town in Utah. They were staying on a small farm with a few goats, sheep, and a cow. Like everyone else, they were wary of us trundling through their quiet desolate space. We camped the first night on the edge of their acquired land. They didn’t have any chickens, so we exchanged some eggs for a gallon of goats’ milk. Trade has a way of breaking down barriers.
After a few days with them, they finally shared their story of how they had chosen not to take the latest vaccination. With that decision came the realization that they were no longer accepted, and both lost their jobs. They became destitute. Like most of us, they slept on the street with the few possessions they could carry. They had moved into a homeless shelter, but then the government came around and started collecting people. They were offering them accommodation in sectioned off parts of the cities. Rumours began shortly after that. Whispers of experiments using the homeless people for their trials. Free accommodation—just take this little jab and tell us how you feel. Free food—just try this new sanitizer and let us know if your skin falls off.
They decided to get out before winter set in and they made it to a remote farm vacated by the prior owner, either through death or moving to a metro city or from Raptors. They didn’t know which it was and didn’t care. They made it their own. When they arrived, the animals were in bad shape. Foraging for food and fending off packs of wild dogs, coyotes, and wolves. They found seed stores and canned goods in a pantry and made themselves at home. The isolation bothered Orchid more than Sammy. So, when we came along, Snag talked Sammy into converting an old camper into a mobile barn for their farm animals. That brought our group up to 5—when Wink was around.
We stuck mostly to smaller roads that passed through forgotten towns that were likely abandoned long before the Rona wiped them out completely. Occasionally we sent drivers to the larger towns to scout, gather supplies, and stock up on fuel when possible. There was always a risk though and I didn’t like doing it. The Raptors patrolled the wider roads and drained any supplies they could along those routes. So, we moved with caution and picked up weapons as we found them.
Our progress was slow not only because of the vehicles and animals, but because we didn’t really have to be anywhere in particular. There were no jobs to rush back to. Our choices had ensured we were no longer eligible for work. No specific destination to get to. All roads led to the Metro cities or empty towns. We were on permanent holiday and there was little to amuse us. No families to look for. Not everyone joined us, and those who did became our family.
We picked up Scratch and Jo outside of Durango. They had held up in a small cabin after the Raptors tore up the town. It didn’t matter that they had qualified skills that could be useful. Being unvaccinated and lesbians, they were sure to be killed instantly, or worse. The Raptors had adopted a fanatical religious view on the Rona. It was cleansing the world of all the evils. Anyone who chose not to be vaccinated chose against the will of God. And being gay, well, that was already seen as against God’s will. A desecration to their sacred vows. I often wondered why they didn’t choose against the vaccination and let God’s will be done. Wink said they chose whichever view gave them the most power. And unvaccinated were seen as unholy, filthy, lower than vermin and needing exterminating.
We were a wandering band of unvaccinated, unbelievers, and unclean. We were common people. Unwelcome and hunted. Unified in our nonconformity. A family by necessity and choice.
I watched as Scratch handed a small ball of fluff to Snag’s trembling hands.
“Uh, do they bite? ‘Cuz as cute as they are, they got some wicked long teeth,” he said, looking at the bunny cradled in her hands. He bent over trying to see in the bunny’s mouth to determine just how lethal it may be.
“As long as you don’t taste like carrot, I think you’ll be fine,” she reassured him as she gently laid the small creature in his now outstretched hands.
“Would you like to share your story this evening, Scratch?” I asked, cautiously, afraid she may jump away as fast as a scared rabbit. “Where we once sat around televisions or computers, we now share our stories around the campfire.”
Having deposited the little creature in Snag’s hands, she looked at me, her eyes shadowy and haunted. She looked at the fire and plucked some fur from her pant leg, “My story is just as sad as everyone else’s.”
“Yes, and it’s just as important as everyone else’s,” I told her. “We use these evening story telling session, so we don’t forget. It’s up to you whether you feel comfortable with sharing. There is no pressure.”
“Well,” Scratch looked at Jo who sat to her right. Jo gave her a nod of encouragement and a soft smile. “I do think it’s important that we don’t forget where we came from, but I would like to forget a lot of the things that got us here.”
I smiled warmly at her, “It’s your story. You get to choose what you share and what you leave behind.”
She gazed into the fire and ran her hand through her bristly grey hair. With a deep sigh she began to share her story.
PS. I promise not to leave you hanging too long to hear Scratches story. It’s already written, just needs a bit of cleaning up before I share it.