The Barren Land of Hellfire & Brimstone

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Hard to believe it now, but my mother, Kelsie, and my Aunt, Katie, grew up in San Fernando. They, like many children of Hollywood's elite, were twins born via surrogate, raised in a type of privilege most of us only know of by thumbing through old, surviving copies of celebrity style and gossip magazines. They were born before The Flare.

The world I live in is a stark contrast to the carefree days of surfing the waves off Manhattan Beach Mama describes. She and Katie would ride bikes from their house to the shore every weekend. They would spend their days eating gelato, a tasty treat cool to the tongue, spotting celebrities here and there.

I've never put my feet into the Pacific Ocean, tasted gelato, nor have I ever seen one of those films. Mama put me to sleep with stories of these magical image capturing devices that told stories and preserved memories. She would reminisce about the people who would play the parts of the characters in these stories, recalling them with fine detail. I can only imagine how wondrous it must've been to be able to escape into a world of fantasy, even if only for a short moment. There's no room for fantasies here.

I'm fortunate, I suppose, to have been born after The Flare. I imagine it was harder for my mother and Aunt Katie to live this barren life, knowing something different was once an option. Scorched earth and petrified trees are all I've known in my 17 years.

My black combat boots are covered in dust, and my fingernails have grease under them, as I ride towards The Depot where I'm picking up Mama. She won't like that. Even here, she expects me to look presentable. It was her turn to go on a supply run two months ago. I've missed her so. I've cut my long red hair short in her absence. Will she recognize me? She and I have always looked as much like sisters as she and Katie did, with our long auburn kissed waves.

The Depot is surrounded by people like me from my village, Madrid, and two others, Barcelona and Valencia. They were named by my god-father, Mateo, after he escaped to the mountains from his engulfed penthouse in downtown Los Angeles. I guess those names made him feel more at home, especially considering he knew he'd never cross an ocean again to see his homeland.

Mateo drove me here today. I'm thankful. Even with all of the work we have to do to stay alive aside this mountain, I find myself as thirsty for companionship as I am for a drink. I can taste the dust in the air. It's bitter, but at least it's not ash. It hasn't rained ash here in six years, and no one has seen a dragon in five. Some people think Hellfire and Brimstone, the two dragons that wiped out California in a matter of days, are gone. Others, like Mama and Mateo, are not so sure.

A drink, that's one thing you always crave if you're of the villages. Trips to the stream to replenish our water supplies have become more taxing with each passing year. There are always people along the way who want to hijack our trucks, who sabotage our waterways and attempt to hold the flow hostage in an exchange for food and supplies. My beautiful Aunt Katie was killed on a supply run just two years ago.

My concern for Mama's safety has weighed heavily on me since then. I hate being left behind. I know I'd be more of a help to her out there than I am here tending to the children by day and our gardens by night. There are plenty of workers. There are not plenty of people brave enough, or skilled enough, to go on supply runs. Mateo has trained me well. I'm definitely requesting to be on the run next month, but I'm certain Mama and Mateo will protest.

I hear the roar of the tanker trucks coming. Mateo tenses up. I jump out of the truck before it comes to a full stop. Please, be there, Mama. Please!

Truck brakes screech to a halt. I see Tao, Michael, Melody, Fran, Peter ... but where is Mama? I quickly head for the trucks and Mateo pulls me back by my arm.

"No, Little One, let me," he says with a reassuring gaze that somewhat calms me instantly. I stay as he approaches the group.

The five of them line up in front of Mateo.

Michael, the leader of the group is tan and muscular. He's the one who has trained Mateo and the rest of us to fight and defend ourselves. He came here the same time Mateo did.

Tao wears cracked glasses and is significantly smaller, but he can repair broken things better than anyone in the village. He's also figured out how to make fuel for these trucks. He's handy to have out on a run.

Melody keeps her blonde hair pulled back tight in an effort to look more tough, but we already knew she was tough. She buried her family on the way here, and legend has it she struck an arrow into Brimstone's foot when he followed them into the hills.

Fran is the oldest of the group, small and spunky, but she's beaten my mom in many fights. I even saw her get the better of Michael once. Today she looks older, as if somehow she's aged 10 years in the last two months.

Peter is the youngest. His blonde hair and blue eyes get to me, but I'd rather die than admit it. We grew up in tents next to each other. Truth be told I've had a small crush on him since he held me down and spit on me when we were kids.

One thing they all have in common? They look too terrified to speak. Tao's lip quivers and Fran can't even look up to meet Mateo's gaze. This is bad. My knees are buckling.

"Where is Kelsie and Grey?," Mateo demanded.

"They ..." Michael stuttered so softly only Mateo could hear him, "They crossed the river to unblock the flow. Someone had built a dam of sorts. We never came across whoever built the dam, but when they were coming back, Grey lost his footing and went under, and Kelsie dove in after him. We ran along the banks to try and help," Michael said sobbing, "but the water was moving too fast. We could see them for the longest time, but they got to the falls and went over. We couldn't get to them. We never saw them come back up."

What are they saying?

Mateo put his hand on Michael's shoulder and looked back at me. The sadness in his eyes told me my mother was gone. The rocks I collapsed onto cut my knees. Everything went black. I could hear people around me, but couldn't make out their words. A lump rose in my throat, choking out my ability to swallow or breathe. This couldn't be happening, not again! My head spun.

Mateo drove me back to his house, and put me in his bed, but I don't remember the ride.

Mateo's frumpy bed and pillow can't conceal my sobs. I'm no longer numb, I feel this grief with every piercing, impossible breath.

"Mama," I whimper. Mateo kneels down beside me.

"You know there's nothing I can say to make this better for you, Little One. Most of us here had already lost a lot of people we loved before we ever got here. Your mother and Katie were the first two people to welcome me into their group once we made it outside of L.A. I had just lost my girlfriend and my son in the first wave of The Flare when I was forced to run. I'd never felt so alone or so scared. But then Katie came over to me and offered me some food. She was the first friend I made. She introduced me to your mom, who was six months pregnant with you. We all became great friends over time. I'll never forget how your mother looked at you the first time she held you. It was as if the love flowing from her eyes washed away all the bad going on around us.

When Katie died, it gutted us all. But you ... you gave your mother a reason to keep on living. And now, you're my reason. I need you. I can't lose you, too," Mateo choked out as he began to cry, "What's going to help you survive is ... a purpose ... you need to find your reason to live. You haven't found it yet, but you will. Just stay here with me until you do, okay?"

I reached for Mateo to hold me. I'd never wanted to be held that much since mom and I crawled into a cave seven years earlier to escape Hellfire's wrath. Mateo sat and held me the rest of the night. The next week passed by in a blur. I barely left the bed.

Peter stopped by to check on me. He looked nervous as he walked through the door holding his crumpled hat. Mateo, noticing Michael standing outside the tent, greeted Peter with a hearty hug.

"Peter, just who I was hoping to see!" Mateo said. He motioned for Peter to have a seat next to my bed.

"I know there's not much I can do, but I wanted to come by and just tell you, Kyleigh, I'm so sorry about your mom. If there was anything I could've done ... can ... can I get some water, please, Mateo?"

Mateo retrieved a mug from the cupboard and filled it half-way with water from the small kettle in the tent. Peter sipped slowly, as if to buy himself some time to come up with something helpful to say.

I mustered up all the strength I had to sit up in bed and place my hand on his.

"I know you all did the best you could," I said with half my voice. "Mama trusted all of you, and I know she wouldn't have wanted to be out there with anyone else. You were her family."

"We were her family," Peter choked out. "Of all people, we should have saved her." Peter hung his head low.

Michael abruptly steps in, "Peter, you can't beat a dead horse."

"Did you really just refer to my mother as a dead horse?" I quipped back.

"I just meant...," Michael paused, "There was nothing else we could do. No one could've survived that fall."

"But, what if there was," I added, "What if there was something you could do? We need to go back for her. I need my mom."

Mateo intervenes, "No, Little One, I don't think that would be safe."

I hold my breath. I know Mateo's right, but I need Mama. They've all accepted she's gone, but not me. I need to look into her green eyes, hear her silly laugh and touch her ivory skin, just one last time. Mateo will hold me back, and Michael will tell me it's not worth it, but Kelsie isn't their mom. She's mine. I will do anything to find her, even if it means ending up as a pile of ashes.

-- by Casey Hutcheson, 2022