Friday Snippets: When the Centre Cannot Hold

Sorry for the sporadic updates this week, but I promise that once things settle down, I will have a more regular update schedule. This week is our last with Iris for a while, so I hope this helps endear her to you guys a little more. Next week, we join back up with Dell in Columbia and we'll be neck deep in the action (imagine the trailer guys deep voice over this).

Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. Etc.

“The governor? The National Guard?” the man behind the barricade chuckling now, a terrible sobbing sound that sent shivers through Iris’s chest. “There is no state, man. No state, no government, nobody. We’re on our own.”

“If there’s no state, by whose authority do you hold the road?” Iris called, “Please, just let us through. All we want is news of what’s happened!”

“By whose authority?” the man called. All of his laughter had fled. “By this authority.”

He stood, a heavy gun cradled in the crook of his arm like some horrible monster. Sweat slid down his face despite the morning cool, a heavy ammunition belt slung low on his hips. Iris drew back; the man saw it and smirked.


"What's happened, little lady, is that the world's gone to hell," he said. He took a pull on his dying cigarette, his face twisting in disgust. He flicked ash and ember.
“I was there two days ago when the nukes hit. Governor’s dead.” The gun swung across the road and held them in its sights.

"What's happened, little lady, is that the world's gone to hell," he said.“I was there two days ago when the nukes hit. Governor’s dead."

“They got Raleigh in the first wave – with D.C. Portsmouth, and Charleston. Atlanta, Chicago, and St. Louis in the next half hour. All gone. Anything else you wanted to know?”

Under her arms, Iris felt Andrew blanch. "Our cars, our radios?"

"The EMPs from the bombs. One nuke would done most of it," the man said. "But all of those? There's nothing left except a few old cars that might still run. Now get off our road."

Andrew's chest had gone tight. Iris knew what they heard from the thieves on the road was true; what Andrew feared in the burned wanderers was true. Iris bowed her head against his back.

“You can at least let us through to the Traveler’s Rest,” Andrew tried. Iris could hear the desperation in his voice. And she knew if she could hear it, the men could hear it, and she knew what that meant. The man with the gun smiled, and it was all teeth.

"I've heard this before," he said. He popped his pack of cigarettes against heel of his hand and pulled on free. The lighter flared like the morning through the dew. "You'll go to the Traveler's Rest, you'll go to Ashville. And then you'll want to see the cities for yourselves. Then you'll want medicine, then our doctors, then our guns and ammo. So, in the end, anarchy is loosed upon the world...as they say."

The grenade sailed out against the cold blue morning sky, black and streaming smoke in a tattered banner behind. When it tinked across the pavement, Iris felt Andrew wind tight. She reached around, gripped his wrist and dragged down on the reins. The horse reared. The detonation took the beast full in the chest and the concussion rolled over them in almost visible waves. There was nothing but smoke.

Iris rolled into the ditch, dragging Andrew after her. The roar of the barricade gunfire was deafening, but Iris wasn't sure she could have heard her own heart beat in those blind moments. And then her chest was aching. She couldn't breath. The sun had climbed up high, and she could hear Andrew calling her. He was beside her, forcing her to stop. Her throat was raw and her shirt hung heavy with sweat. The road was far behind.

She slumped down against a jut of stone, covering her face with her hands. She couldn't seem to think of words to say and that she could only wipe at snot and sweat, flushed with fear and embarassment. But Andrew was beside her.

"You know that's why I love you, don't you?" he said. The words were like a rush of cold water. He said, "Because you'll always look me in the eye."

He was talking, and his voice was a strange lull of nonsense and comforting phrases. He cradled her face in his hands, pushing back her blood-stiff curls. Her tears made mud on her cheeks.

“Iris,” he said. “Iris, I want you to look at me.” And somehow, she did. He smiled and it was strange on his pale face and the smear of purple bruise across his cheekbone. “You know that’s why I love you, don’t you?” he said. The words were like a rush of cold water. He said, “Because you’ll always look me in the eye.” And that was when he kissed her for the first time.

So say we all.
Bri