Young Writers Society

New Characters:

Austin Nightshade

Emma Nightshade

Abby Nightshade

Alistair Nightshade

Luna McHale Nightshade

William McHale

Nolan Ray Peters

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November 1, 2019

Two Years, Eleven Months, Twenty-four Days

After the Bombs Fell

He awoke on the ground. His mother and sisters were still asleep while father was tending to a small fire out in the woods a few miles from a small farm. They had a wagon and three horses, the only way to get around since the gas stations shut down.

"Mornin', Austin," his father, Alistair, said quietly. "I shot a pigeon and need some of your herbs to cook it. I can't tell 'em apart."

Alistair was a large, bulky man from Alabama with dark blue eyes, a hunter and fisherman before th bombs. He wore clothes like what Davy Crockett once wore when he was still traipsing about the wilderness.

"Fine. But you really should try to learn these herbs, Dad. What kind of hunter doesn’t know his plants?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. “I know some of them well enough.”

Austin pushed himself off of the ground and went over to the wagon. Thinking to himself for a moment, he pulled out a small jar of vegetable oil and a small case of precious butter. He also pulled a few beetroots and a butternut squash from a small sack of herbs and vegetables. He took his small knife and diced the chosen breakfast veggies before dumping them in a small pot of boiling water sitting over the small, crackling fire.

"Wait about five minutes before you add the pigeon, alright?" he said.

"Fine. If you want to freshen up, there's a little stream just over there, down that small hill," Alistair replied, pulling at his short, brown beard.

Austin nodded. "I'll wait a bit." He glanced at his sisters.

Emma slept more peacefully, bundled in a woolen blanket they’d bartered for in Charleston, the capital of an independent Virginia. Abby, meanwhile, had sprawled herself across the ground on top of a couple blankets looted from a Walmart. Luna, their mother, stirred.

"Wait for what?" she asked drowsily.

"A bath, Mom," Austin said. "I think it's better to wait, especially since we’ve just left Nashville. We don't know what we'll find between here and Grandpa’s."

"True," she replied. "Are we having corn again?"

"We're not. Pigeon, beetroot, and butternut squash." Austin frowned before adding, "And some of the butter."

"Austin, you know that we don't have much left."

"I know," the young man said, nodding. "But, we're almost to Grandpa's, and he's bound to have more than enough butter to clog all of our arteries."

Grandpa McHale was an odd one. He had been born in 1956, a few years after the start of the Cold War. He was raised to be a "true Southerner and Republican". He had a bomb shelter filled with a stockpile of guns and food under his house, which he also used as a cellar. They were sure he was still alive- if anyone could survive the bombs, it was him.

"If you'd let me go on head-" Austin began.

"Aw, hush boy," Alistair said. "We both know that he'd shoot first and ask questions later."

"That's only with you, Dad." Emma had woken up. "Austin, is your watch still working?"

Her twin nodded. Grandma McHale had given it to him when he turned thirteen as a present. "Just past nine-thirty."

"We've slept too long. But at least we're out of the bad parts of Virginia,” Luna said a bit anxiously. “We need to hurry.”

"Let's wake up Abby, eat, and go on from here," recommended Emma. "We can get to Grandpa's and stay with him, maybe get some news."

"Yeah," Austin said. "Let's do that."

"This isn't a-"

Alistair Nightshade stopped in his tracks. He was going to say democracy, but he realized that would be a mistake. Tennessee was still under martial law by orders of a Godfrey Smith-- Luna had recognized him as former Speaker of the House-- who was claiming the presidency. Part of Kentucky had reorganized itself, and remnants from the Virginias had banded together. In New England, contact had been made with Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas. Together, they made up the newly established Coastal States.

"I think you're father means that he doesn't think we should leave just yet." Luna gave her husband a stern look. "I, however, agree with you both. When we get there, we'll finally be safe."

Is anywhere safe? Austin thought to himself. Ever since the bombs dropped...

"I'm already awake," Abigail said, rubbing her eyes. "Is there food? What time is it? Are we almost there?"

"Yes, half past nine, and yes," Emma answered. "Come and get it. I'm sure that it's about done."

"Good."

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About thirty minutes later, they had all eaten and had moved their sleeping bags and pillows to the wagon. It was Luna's turn to drive the hitched horse. Emma and Austin rode the other two on either side. Abigail and Alistair were in the back of the wagon.

Another two hours later, they were well on their way towards Salt Water Springs, where Grandpa McHale lived. It was only a few miles away from Clarksville. No more than five miles from the small town, the family began to hear voices.

"Well, Nolan, there's not too many that travel through these parts anymore. Thank 'ee for the ammo," the first voice, a male, said. “As the song goes, Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition.”

"Anything for you, ol' man. You're our best customer. Not to mention we still want you to jon us in Bombingham," replied the second.

"God bless ya, Nolan Ray, God bless ya, but I can’t. I work for th’ President now, you know that."

Just then, one of the horses whinnied rather loudly.

"You hear that, Mr. McHale?"

"Aye," the first man, whom the children realized was their grandfather, said. "Aye. It better not be any o' dem Yanks. Or fascists, either. I take care o' em."

The two came into view. The other man had two guns raised as soon as the traveling family were in sight.

"You can shoot that bulky man. The rest are with me," Grandpa McHale said, smirking.

"Daddy," Luna hissed, "you know better than that." She jumped off the front of the wagon, walking over to hug her father.

The twins dismounted. "Grandpa!" Emma called, running over.

"Well, I'll be damned. I thought you was all up in Boston!" their grandfather said.

"We traveled all the way down to find you," the teen girl replied.

"I'll be dogged," the unknown man said, twirling his guns before putting them in his holsters. "You come all the way from Massachusetts?"

"Yes, Mister... er... Who are you?" Alistair asked.

"Nolan Ray Peters, head of the Redneck Republic. Well, most of it. Who're you?"

"They're the Nightshades," Grandpa McHale said. "Emma, Austin, Abigail, and my Luna. Don't know who the bulky man is."

"He's my husband, Alistair," Luna said. "We've just left Nashville--"

"We just call it the Nash now," Nolan interrupted. "Ville means fort. Only fort 'round here's Hicksville, five minute walk that way." He pointed south.

"Hicksville?" Emma asked. "Fort of the Hicks?"

"Yeah, it is," Nolan said. "Did ya come through Kentucky or North Carolina on your way over?"

"No, Virginia," Alistair said. "Why?"

“Virginia’s got somethin’ set up?” the man asked, surprised. “I’d heard rumors… Oh well. Anyways, that’s the best way to get here, the Carolinas and Kentucky. You ever get past the state line down south, you’ll find the Redneck Republic.”

Grandpa McHale shook his head. “Y’all could’ve at least kept calling it Alabama or somethin’. Redneck Republic my a-- my foot,” he said, hastily fixing his mistake. McHale didn’t normally curse in front of children, unless he was surprised.

“We’re a republic of rednecks, we had nothin’ else to call it!” Nolan protested. “Besides, we’re better protected. We’ve got a navy.”

“Y’all have one ship, for Christ’s sake,” McHale said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, Tennessee’s got it better. We’ve got electricity, we’ve got a president, and we’ve got working phones.”

Nolan Ray sighed. “Fine. But we’ve got Abrams welded to the front gates of Bombingham. That’s gotta count for something.”

There was an awkward silence as the Nightshades looked between the two men in confusion as Grandpa McHale shook his head.

“Well I oughta go,” Nolan Ray said. Turning to the family, he tipped his hat. “Y’all take care, now. Shoot fascists on sight.” And with that, he turned and started to walk south.

A few minutes later, Grandpa McHale sighed. ‘C’mon. Let’s get ya to th’ house. We need to talk.”

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Personal Notes/Commentary:

At the beginning of each Chapter, I plan to describe only the new characters. Thus far, this is the most new characters i have introduced in a chapter (I'm writing a little ahead). I'll do my best to not introduce an overwhelming number as I (likely) did here.

For those wondering why the Great Lakes Territories (Michigan and Winsconsin) were not mentioned, it is because the other nations/states do not know of their existence yet, and will not for at least a few chapters.

Let me know if you would like me to post a list of the bombed American cities, I'll get to it as soon as I can.