TRANSGRESSIVE FICTION

Mary’s Choice

Life had never been easy for Mary and her family, but after the world went to hell, it was even worse.

Life on the road wasn’t easy before the crash, but now it’s next near impossible. Violent gangs of thugs run the city streets, where only the strong or the beautiful survive. The roads aren’t much safer, where roving bands of thieves, cutthroats, and rapists lurk behind every fallen tree. Every turn in the road.

But the family stuck together as best we could. We lost Pa in a firefight with a militia group near what used to be Detroit. He took down more than any man should be able to, but they still got him. We barely made it out with our skins intact. We were trying to get to Canada, but their fences were too high. Their razor wire was too sharp. And the river was just too fast for the children to survive.

Now we’re on our way to Lost Vegas, where dreams come true. It’ll be a long, hungry trek, but we’ll make it. We have to. It’s our only hope.

We have eaten little in the last few days. Daryl and I are making do, but the kids are howling. It looks like we’re going to need to make another hard choice.

“Daryl, I can’t choose. I just can’t. It’s not right.”

“Mary, we have to stay tough. We can’t lose sight of our goals. I know you love them both, and don’t want to hurt either, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s either Joe or Maggie for the stew. Which one is it?”

Daryl was right, of course. Tough decisions have to be made. I pray my thanks to whoever is listening — if anybody — that it was Daryl who did the butchering. Not me. I couldn’t bear it. Making the stew was hard enough, but the butchering would have broken my heart. And ruined my appetite.

Now my stomach’s full, I crawl into my sleeping bag, away from the fire. Grieving is private, and I don’t want the other children to fear their potential fate down the road. Joe was my youngest son, with so much promise, but the family must survive.

As I cuddle my puppy, Maggie, in close, I know my Maggie is the only one who really loves me. Maybe Daryl should be next. He’d keep us fed for a long time.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, and a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all. You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.

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Another story by Paul.