find to offset his consumption of the
packaged meals. Canning, once a hobby of his, now determined his
survival. Gathering wood for the stove was a prerequisite for such
an endeavor and also an essential asset for the winter. He also was
skilled with a bow and arrow, though the population of deer had
plummeted, so a fresh kill was something that only existed in his
dreams. He thought of the work ahead once the wet weather had
ceased.
Another boom. This time different from the constant
thunder that plagued the valley. This boom sounded closer than
anything that preceded it and sounded like it was outside the front
door.
He looked at the door and waited. Then a second boom
came. Frozen, he stared at the door. A third boom came and he saw
the door move. Someone was at the door, and they weren’t in any
hurry to leave his doorstep.
He walked to the door and gazed through the peephole.
Nobody was there. Then a fourth boom startled him and sent him
backwards. Perhaps a child stood outside the door. But what if
not?
He unlocked two of the three locks and cracked the
door open, leaving the chain lock in place. A boy stood on the
doorstep, soaking wet with a look of utter fear splashed across his
face.
The boy’s lips parted and the sound of his defeated
voice leaked out. “Help me.”
The man stood and stared at the boy. His brown hair
draped into his eyes from lack of grooming. His face was gray with
the ashes that were the only remnants of his past. The man knew he
must have come from the city. The city that was burned to the
ground.
To let the boy in would mean that the man would have
to sacrifice many of his food supplies, and he knew that opening
his sanctuary to any outsiders could put his life at risk. Yet, the
more he looked at the boy, the more he pitied him. To refuse to
help would ensure the boy’s fate. He would die eventually, most
likely from starvation.
He unlatched the chain lock and opened the door.
Outside, he saw the candle light that poured from his cabin reflect
off of the flood of water that fell from the sky.
“Come in,” the man said.
The boy moved his right leg with a hesitant step.
Then his left foot followed, slowly, like a child learning to walk.
His limbs were trembling from being soaked to the core. Water
dripped from the boy as he walked into the cabin. The man closed
the door and locked it. He turned to look at the boy who surveyed
the cabin.
“We need to dry you off,” the man said.
The boy turned around and the man saw the sorrow on
his face. The man knew the atrocities the boy may have witnessed.
He had witnessed enough himself.
“I will get you something dry to put on,” the man
said. He walked to the other side of the cabin and retrieved a
change of clothing that he knew would be many sizes too large for
the boy, but certainly better than the wet rags that covered
him.
Returning to the boy, he handed him the clothing.
“Here you go.”
The man turned around to give the boy some level of
privacy while he changed. He could hear the boy’s clothing hit the
wooden floor with a wet thud. The sound of the boy finding his way
through the dry clothing took over.
In about a minute, the man heard the boy’s voice from
behind. “Thank you.”
The boy looked like he was being swallowed whole by
the massive fabric of the long-sleeved tee shirt, denim pants, and
stained white socks. The man nodded and smiled. Then he walked
towards his favorite wooden chair near the fireplace. There was
another chair near the wall that he pulled over and positioned near
his chair.
“Come over and have a seat,” the man said.
The boy approached the chair hesitantly and sat
down.
“So tell me,” the man said. “Where are you from?”
The boy stuttered some nonsensical words before he
became coherent. “The city.”
“Does this city have a name?”
“Philadelphia.”
The man looked at the boy with a certain degree of
skepticism. “You’re telling me you walked all the way from
packaged meals. Canning, once a hobby of his, now determined his
survival. Gathering wood for the stove was a prerequisite for such
an endeavor and also an essential asset for the winter. He also was
skilled with a bow and arrow, though the population of deer had
plummeted, so a fresh kill was something that only existed in his
dreams. He thought of the work ahead once the wet weather had
ceased.
Another boom. This time different from the constant
thunder that plagued the valley. This boom sounded closer than
anything that preceded it and sounded like it was outside the front
door.
He looked at the door and waited. Then a second boom
came. Frozen, he stared at the door. A third boom came and he saw
the door move. Someone was at the door, and they weren’t in any
hurry to leave his doorstep.
He walked to the door and gazed through the peephole.
Nobody was there. Then a fourth boom startled him and sent him
backwards. Perhaps a child stood outside the door. But what if
not?
He unlocked two of the three locks and cracked the
door open, leaving the chain lock in place. A boy stood on the
doorstep, soaking wet with a look of utter fear splashed across his
face.
The boy’s lips parted and the sound of his defeated
voice leaked out. “Help me.”
The man stood and stared at the boy. His brown hair
draped into his eyes from lack of grooming. His face was gray with
the ashes that were the only remnants of his past. The man knew he
must have come from the city. The city that was burned to the
ground.
To let the boy in would mean that the man would have
to sacrifice many of his food supplies, and he knew that opening
his sanctuary to any outsiders could put his life at risk. Yet, the
more he looked at the boy, the more he pitied him. To refuse to
help would ensure the boy’s fate. He would die eventually, most
likely from starvation.
He unlatched the chain lock and opened the door.
Outside, he saw the candle light that poured from his cabin reflect
off of the flood of water that fell from the sky.
“Come in,” the man said.
The boy moved his right leg with a hesitant step.
Then his left foot followed, slowly, like a child learning to walk.
His limbs were trembling from being soaked to the core. Water
dripped from the boy as he walked into the cabin. The man closed
the door and locked it. He turned to look at the boy who surveyed
the cabin.
“We need to dry you off,” the man said.
The boy turned around and the man saw the sorrow on
his face. The man knew the atrocities the boy may have witnessed.
He had witnessed enough himself.
“I will get you something dry to put on,” the man
said. He walked to the other side of the cabin and retrieved a
change of clothing that he knew would be many sizes too large for
the boy, but certainly better than the wet rags that covered
him.
Returning to the boy, he handed him the clothing.
“Here you go.”
The man turned around to give the boy some level of
privacy while he changed. He could hear the boy’s clothing hit the
wooden floor with a wet thud. The sound of the boy finding his way
through the dry clothing took over.
In about a minute, the man heard the boy’s voice from
behind. “Thank you.”
The boy looked like he was being swallowed whole by
the massive fabric of the long-sleeved tee shirt, denim pants, and
stained white socks. The man nodded and smiled. Then he walked
towards his favorite wooden chair near the fireplace. There was
another chair near the wall that he pulled over and positioned near
his chair.
“Come over and have a seat,” the man said.
The boy approached the chair hesitantly and sat
down.
“So tell me,” the man said. “Where are you from?”
The boy stuttered some nonsensical words before he
became coherent. “The city.”
“Does this city have a name?”
“Philadelphia.”
The man looked at the boy with a certain degree of
skepticism. “You’re telling me you walked all the way from
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