The Cellar: A Post-Apocalyptic Novella Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  About The Cellar

  Dedication

  The Cellar

  Author's Note

  Also by Richard Dela Cruz

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The Cellar

  A Post-Apocalyptic Novella

  Richard Dela Cruz

  About The Cellar

  A hundred years after The Event, the earth has become a vast, barren wasteland. In this dying world, seventeen-year-old Daren is the sole hunter for his village. But food is scarce, and it’s only a matter of time before they all die of hunger or worse…until he discovers a can of beans, new and pristine, as if fresh from a factory. Where did it come from? And will he discover its source in time to save his people?

  For Justice, with love.

  With this book you’ve helped me cross off the second thing on my bucket list.

  Marrying you was the first.

  DAREN WIPED THE BLOOD OFF his knife and looked down at the twelve bodies at his feet. They were scrawny, their ribs showed, and they would’ve died on their own if he hadn’t killed them. He grabbed their tails—four at a time—with one fist and stuffed the rodents into his backpack, making sure the flap was buttoned before slinging it over his shoulder. Two days of tracking and all he could show for it were twelve puny rats.

  Lara’s absence only made him feel worse. Something must have happened to her. She had a sick mother and three siblings to feed, yet she hadn’t shown up to hunt in over a week. He considered looking for her village to check up on her, maybe even bring her a couple of rats. But bursting in unannounced with a gift would be taking their relationship a step too far. They had never been more than friendly competitors, and he certainly couldn’t afford to part with any of his kill—not with his village always on the brink of starvation. Yet as he recalled her red hair and green eyes and the deft, graceful way she held her club before the kill, he couldn’t help but wish they could be something more.

  In the fading light, the perennially gray landscape turned a shade darker, and Daren pushed away all thoughts of Lara. He needed to focus on getting home. With game now scarce in the usual places, he had gone farther than he had previously dared. To make it home in time for supper, he’d have to take a shortcut. And that was exactly what he was afraid of.

  He walked briskly under a blanket of ash clouds. Most of the vegetation had receded, and the topsoil had been carried off by dust storms. None of this disturbed him. In all his seventeen years, the skies have always reflected the starkness of the earth.

  Taking a sharp right, he passed through a wasteland of dry hills and stunted shrubs and kept on until he stood at the edge of the Dead Fields. There wasn’t much to see: an expanse of wilted crops, a roofless shack, and a line of trees in the distance that marked the entrance to the forest. He’d recently heard about strange happenings in that vicinity. Traders who had gone there had warned the villagers about getting too close to the area. “The spirits have awakened from their slumber,” they had said in hushed tones.

  Daren took a few tentative steps and checked around. The shack, with its rotted wood and boarded up windows, remained still and empty. A light breeze played over the cracked earth, ferrying dust around dried stalks of wheat. With a deep breath, he marched forward, the stalks crackling under his feet as he stomped on them. His village lay somewhere beyond the trees. He just had to keep one foot in front of the other, and he’d be at the gates in less than an hour.

  He stopped when a ripple appeared in the air right above him. It looked like a thin film had momentarily swept over his field of vision. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and saw nothing. Three more steps forward and another ripple appeared. In that instant, the fields and the shack seemed like a reflection distorted by a hurled pebble. He waited, his neck hairs tingling, afraid that he had disturbed something. Nothing else happened, but a sudden urge to get away overwhelmed him and he sprinted toward the forest.

  When he got to the forest entrance, he paused and took a few breaths to calm himself. He hoped the mysterious force haunting the fields would allow him to pass unharmed. Daylight was dimming, and since he had run out of torches, he’d be groping his way through if he delayed any longer.

  The strangeness he witnessed in the fields might extend into the woods—and he shuddered at the thought of having something dart out at him in the dark—but he steeled himself and entered it. Naked branches stretched forth like crooked fingers seeking to pierce the cloud cover, hoping to reach the sun, but failing in the attempt. Each trunk now stood in silent vigil to its own death.

  As Daren made his way through the forest, fear pricked at the corners of his mind and tried to drive its way in. In his peripheral vision, he saw figures lurking, but when he whipped his head around to look, they disappeared. He sighed. A trick of the light. But a few more yards into the forest, he saw a green glow coming from the trees ahead. It didn’t flicker like a torch; it remained steady. He had never seen anything like it.

  The eerie glow sent cold dread through his body. A ghostly figure seemed to move out from behind a tree, and he turned away and bolted as fast as his lungs could bear. Terror fueled his mad dash as he imagined the specter floating just above—about to swoop down and snatch him. The trees melted into fleeting blurs as he barreled his way through. Low lying branches whipped his face and arms as he kept on running. Roots threatened to trip him at every turn. He staggered and almost fell when he stubbed his toe on one of the larger ones. It was as if the entire forest had conspired to attack him.

  Relief washed over him when he finally broke through the maze of trunks, though he kept on running until he was far enough away from the trees. He bent down and heaved in several mouthfuls of air. Behind him, the forest was a black outline against the evening sky. No green light was visible and nothing pursued him.

  Now that he was out of the forest, he could think clearly, logically. As his heart rate slowed, he began to doubt that he’d seen the strange ripples or the cloaked figure lurking in the trees. Maybe it was just the fatigue brought on by the hunt. He’d pushed himself too hard and probably just needed a long rest.

  He released a sigh when he saw firelight in the distance and columns of chimney smoke rising up from his village. As he got closer, he recognized the pile of rocks encircling the settlement—the bones of former dwellings blasted in a long forgotten disaster. The wall was about ten feet high, a bulwark against the terrors of the open wasteland. He always felt protected whenever he was inside it. It kept safe everything dear to him—kept everything from wasting away like the rest of the landscape. He loved his village because he never felt the need to guard his back. The comforting wall of rubble did that for him.

  He approached a rusted iron gate covering the rock wall’s only entrance. Just a few more steps and he’d finally be home. He would find his cot, lie down, and sleep away the fear and the weariness. He placed his hand on the gate and was about to enter when a red-haired young man wearing a patched leather jacket swung it open. He seized Daren by the throat and flashed a knife. Daren struggled against the man’s grip, but when he felt the blade press under his chin, he froze in place.

  “You’ve got some nerve trying to barge in here.” The man pushed his thumb against Daren’s windpipe. “Who sent you?”

  Daren responded with a faint wheezing noise.

  “Who sent you!” the man repeated.

  “Logan, it’s me,” Daren managed to croak out.

  Horror came over his attacker’s features. He released Daren and retreated a step back, dropping his knife as he let his arm hang limp by his side. Da
ren glowered at him while he rubbed the area under his chin where the knife drew blood.

  “Daren! I didn’t recognize you.”

  Daren narrowed his eyes at him. “I couldn’t have changed that much in two days.”

  “It was dark and you look pretty dirty and messed up.” Logan looked at him from head to foot. “I thought you were a raider.”

  A tall woman in her early thirties wearing a blue overcoat rushed over to where they both stood. Her raven hair, which had a few strands of gray, was tied up in a long braid. She wore an eye patch and a long white scar marred the right side of her face.

  “Are you all right?” She pressed both hands against Daren’s cheeks.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  She hugged him tightly and stroked his hair. He shut his eyes and fervently prayed that none of the village girls were watching.

  “Are you sure you’re fine?” she murmured in his ear.

  “Yes, Mom. Honest.” He gritted his teeth. “You can let go now.”

  When his mother finally released him, she turned to Logan and scowled at him. Logan drew back slowly, but before he could brace himself, she curled her fingers into a fist and punched him in the face. Daren winced when he heard a solid crunch. Logan staggered back and nearly fell over. He pressed a palm against his cheekbone.

  “How dare you lay your hands on my son!” She drew her fist back for another blow.

  “I’m sorry, Arianna!” Logan raised his arm to shield himself. “I didn’t know. I mean, look at him.” He gestured to Daren. “He’s a walking cesspit.”

  “A cesspit, huh?” She spat out the words. “Maybe you’d like to dig us a new one. You’ll start at first light tomorrow.”

  “But the last shovel broke apart two days ago,” Logan protested. “We haven’t had any new tools in weeks.”

  “Use your hands then.” She pointed to the far end of the village. “Now get out of my sight!”

  Scratching his head, Logan picked up his knife from the ground, wiped the dirt off the blade, and slipped it into a sheath on his belt before making his way over to the south end of the settlement. As soon as he disappeared from sight, Arianna turned back to face her son.

  “You look like you crawled through a mud hole.” She brushed some dust off Daren’s shirt. “Why did it take you so long to get back? I was going insane imagining all sorts of things.”

  “I know I should’ve come back within a day like you told me,” he said. “But there was so little game in all the usual areas that I had to go farther than before.”

  “You know better than to go outside our hunting territory on your own.” She frowned. “I hope you brought something home that’s worth the risk.”

  Daren sighed when he felt the weight of the rats in his pack. If he had found a raccoon or two then he wouldn’t feel like he’d wasted his time. But anything raccoon-sized had become a prized rarity. He opened his pack and showed the rats to his mother. The frown lines on her forehead felt like daggers to his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” He bowed his head. “It’s all I could find.”

  Arianna reached in and took out the rats to examine them in the torchlight. She squeezed and weighed them in her palms to check how much meat each one had. Then she placed them back in the bag and looked at Daren. He could see her trying to force a smile.

  “It’s all right.” Her voice sounded strained. “We’ll make do with these somehow.”

  “Gordon, Troy, and Rima probably came up with more kills.” He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Between the four of us we should have more than enough for everyone.”

  Arianna’s features were impassive save for a slight twitch that caught his eye. She could hide her emotions well when she wanted to. This gave her an advantage in delicate negotiations with nearby villages. But he could tell that his mother was keeping something from him.

  “Is something wrong, Mom?”

  She let out a heavy sigh.

  “We were attacked earlier today,” she said in a flat tone. “A huge raider clan—around thirty members—tried to breach the wall.”

  “What?” Daren looked around to check the village for any damage. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Everyone inside the wall remained unharmed. We managed to repel their assault.”

  “You said everyone inside the wall.” Daren could feel his heart rate go up. “Was anyone outside the wall?”

  Arianna paused as if trying to hold back a blow as long as possible. Daren already knew who was caught outside. He just wanted to hear her say it.

  “After we broke the siege, the raiders retreated back into the forest,” she said. “A half hour later we heard screaming. It was around the time Gordon, Troy, and Rima were due back from hunting.” She hesitated for a moment. “By the time we got out there they were just body parts hanging from trees.”

  Daren felt weak in the knees. “They’re dead? All three of them?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  In one fell swoop, three hunters from the village were gone. A couple of years ago, the village boasted around fifteen hunters and scavengers. Over time, illness, accidents, murders, and other mishaps reduced the number to four, which included Daren. Now he was the only one left.

  “I know it’s a lot to take.” Arianna placed a hand on his shoulder. “But right now we have to bring your catch over to the others. They’ve all been waiting for supper to arrive.”

  Arianna and Daren walked over to the middle of the village. The residents had already emerged from their shacks, which were slapped together from a collection of corrugated metal sheets, plywood, twigs, and tarp. At the center of the circle of shacks, two women busied themselves with a fire under a huge kettle. The rest had already gathered around as they waited for their meal. Daren saw the firelight dance on their faces with shadows going deep into each sunken cheek. It had been a while since they’d eaten anything and most of the villagers had their eyes fixed on Daren and his pack. At his mother’s instruction, he emptied his bag on a chopping block near the kettle. The twelve rats tumbled onto the scarred wood with their limbs splayed out. He swallowed when he heard a collective groan from the crowd. They were expecting a lot more.

  “It’s all right everyone.” Arianna held up her hands. “We’ll find a way to stretch it.”

  “Find a way to stretch it?” a woman blurted out. “How do you expect to do that? Those things barely have any meat on them.”

  “Daren used to bring back a lot more than that before last week.” A man stood up and pointed at the rats. “The kid’s been slipping.”

  Daren wanted to say something but couldn’t. The amount of prey he brought home had diminished as of late. Was it a coincidence that it started happening soon after Lara disappeared? It seemed that he had better luck hunting whenever she was around. He missed her in more ways than one.

  “If that boy’s the only hunter we have left,” continued the man, looking around at the others, “then heaven help us all.”

  Arianna shot a glare in his direction. The man sat down and avoided her eyes. She then looked at the rest of the villagers and raised her voice.

  “Losing three hunters in one day is devastating, but we will all manage somehow. We’ve faced difficulties before, and we’ll find a way around this one.”

  Low grumbles went around the campfire but no one actually protested. Most of them were too weakened from hunger to argue. Meanwhile, the village cook grabbed her cleaver and approached the chopping block. She made swift work of the rat corpses and tossed them into the boiling kettle. She then crumbled a piece of bark and scattered the pieces over the soup.

  “You know that things are really bad,” Old Man Murphy piped up, “when we start using trees as seasoning.”

  Daren watched as everyone got a bowl of diluted rat soup. Disappointment was etched into their faces as they searched for anything edible in their broth. Old Man Murphy stuck his finger into the soup and swirled it around. He fished out part of a rat’s tail
and held it up as it dripped soup on the ground. He chuckled as if remembering a joke and brought the tail to his three remaining front teeth to nibble off the skin. A mother offered her own soup bowl to her four-year-old son, who grabbed it and gulped down its contents. He wiped the liquid dribbling down his chin and moaned that he was still hungry. The others finished their meals all too quickly and just stared blankly at the fire. The three deaths and the doom they heralded hung low and heavy over the gathering.

  Daren realized he was the only one who stood between his people and starvation. Most of the twenty remaining villagers were too young, too old, or too sick to hunt. There were a few able bodied ones left but their job was to fight off the raiders. The village couldn’t risk them going too far afield to gather food. Gordon, Troy, and Rima’s deaths were a stark reminder of how dangerous that would be.

  Daren hadn’t touched his food, and some villagers were already eyeing his bowl with longing. Even the boy who had eaten his mother’s share began to focus on Daren’s bowl as if the entire world had collapsed into that one solitary object. In another world, Daren would’ve caved in, stood up, and handed over the food to the boy. He would’ve gone to bed without supper just to see a child eat a proper meal. But in this world, the hunger had gnawed away his kindness.

  The moment the boy lifted his hands to beg, Daren’s primal urges took hold. He brought the bowl to his mouth and gulped down all the skin, bones, and traces of fur. After slurping the residual sludge at the bottom, he lowered the bowl to look at the boy, whose sullen eyes stared right into his, awash with disappointment.

  Daren stood up, tossed away the bowl, and stomped away from the gathering. What right did the boy have to make him feel guilty? The little brat had already deprived his mother of her food, and he had the gall to demand more. He wasn’t about to let a snotty little ingrate make him feel bad about not sharing.