Fear and Loathing in Zion: 1983 Doomsday

Outskirts of Fillmore, Commonwealth of Deseret. 31 October 2016.

<Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh! Hard times come again no more.

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh! Hard times come again no more…>

I sure do hope so, God willing, Daniel Graham sighed as he looked himself over a mirror one more time and fixed his bowtie. The reflection before him was that of a teenage boy no older than 17 or so in an old-fashioned walking suit, with blond hair and somewhat bushy eyebrows, along with a couple of faint scars for good measure. Yet for someone of his physical age, he was much more mature and more importantly, morally upright. For a Survivor-Nation such as himself, it was pretty fitting. Something Old America had forgotten. And he’s coming back no more.

With the music on the radio continuing to play as he adjusted his coat, he appreciated how rather apropos it was for this corner of the American Wastes, despite hailing from the distant days of the Civil War. Then again, such time-tested forms of music had seen a comeback across his land – and possibly others across what had once been the 50 States of the Union – in the years since Doomsday. Even with all the cassette tapes and LPs left over, figuring out what dance track or rock tune from 1983 to listen to had far less priority for his countrymen than survival in the “hard times” that followed the atomic deluge; even now, they never quite caught on. And good riddance. Never liked that noise anyhow.

Deseret’s musings however were cut off as the door to his room burst open. Turning around, he found a teenaged girl standing by the now switched-off radio in a colorful, if flamboyant brown dress. Her tan, slightly reddish complexion seemed to blend with the patterns on the Pendleton blanket she donned over the outfit, her dark braided hair complementing the small feather nestled on the side. If it were anyone else, he would have either demanded how the stranger slipped into his house or reached for his trusty Colt Automatic if said intruder so much as brandished a knife. Instead, he managed a warm, if surprised smile. After all, she wasn’t supposed to be here until later for their Halloween date.

“Yá'át'ééh,” Mai Cortez Johnson, otherwise known as Dinétah grinned. “Caught you in a bad time?” 

“Darn it. You could have rang the doorbell!” he grinned. “And what’s with the Indian – sorry, I mean, Native American costume?”

“Come on. We are not so fragile that we cannot have some fun as well,” the girl chided playfully in a peculiar accent. “Besides, this outfit is nothing. It’s not even of the Diné anyway, though this blanket is close enough.”

“I suppose you got me there. Call it vanity, but I would rather like to be handsome and dashing tonight rather than look like some Old West preacher. 

“You look like that everyday, ashkii. It suits you better.”

Daniel chuckled, knowing how often he went about looking just that; rolled-up flannel shirts and wide-brimmed hats made comparisons to the cowboys and ranchers of yore rather easy after a while. His costume didn’t look too different either from the suit-and-tie he wore whenever the Governor-General or First Presidency held a formal event. The Survivor-Nation always did find it interesting how muddled Church and State remained, even after joining the North American Union. Not that I mind, when I help run it.

“Well then,” he finally smiled as he held Mai’s hand and led her downstairs. “I do know this nice small restaurant up in Provo that offers some tasty Jell-O. Or if you want, there’s mom-and-pop down in Main Street not far from the Avalon. They don’t sell wine or most beers, but their burgers are excellent.”

“That would be beautiful,” Dinétah smiled. “A single dish providing a balanced helping of nature's blessings: meat, grain and vegetable. How could anyone hate such a magnificent thing?”

“You eat them back home, too. But by Jove, I promise you it’ll be the best one you’ll have!" 

“I look forward to it. Especially if it’s with you, shikąʼ~”

The two quietly stole a moment to kiss each other on the lips just before the front door. While Daniel blushed after they parted, he didn’t particularly care about how awkward it was, that Mai was technically a “Gentile” or what teaching from Scripture he was hypocritically breaking, so long as it wasn’t in public. Not if it’s with you at all.

Still, the Survivor-Nation couldn’t help but wonder how peculiar their relationship was to outsiders. The Diné, more known as the Navajo, were among the original dwellers of the New World and had suffered at the hands of the White Men. Deseret’s citizens meanwhile were by and large descended from the bold pioneers and converts who ventured west, driven out for the faith of Smith and Young by other White Men. It’s a bit more complicated than just that though. Generations’ worth of blood, sweat and tears bore testament to their histories as well as the live-and-let-live respect they came to have with each others’ beliefs, especially after Doomsday. All the same, they outlasted Old America. And together, they were not only thriving over the ashes left behind, but also helping guide the burgeoning alliance that’s the NAU make its way in the wider world. Except for one little hitch.

Then the doorbell rang, followed by an incessant knocking that could only mean one person in particular.

Her.

Sighing, Daniel let go of his girlfriend and with a deep breath, opened the door. Before him on the front porch was a blonde teenage girl, donning an outfit that right down to the waistcoat and breeches looked straight out of a museum, ruined only by the somewhat burnt bomber jacket worn over it; a black car was parked behind the newcomer, which was still something of a rarity in this corner of the Wastes when most people used horses. That her short, rather boyish hair was just partially covered by a tricorn hat didn’t do much to hide her identity, nor did the grin lining her face.

“Miss Jones,” Deseret frowned. “Are you still showing off your presents from Europe?”

“Happy Halloween too, Utah,” the formerly Provisional United States of America smirked. “And it’s Ichabod Crane, by the way. Anyway, thought I’d come over to check up on my neighbors, though ‘ya really need to stock up on pumpkins next time. Oh, hey Navajo!”

Unlike Daniel, Mai was much more upfront. “How nice to remember, Amelia. Now, will you excuse us? We have a dinner to attend, and it would be a shame to waste celebrating nature’s blessings.”

“Like that place downtown right? Just my luck! I just saved the whole upper floor on the off-chance such a fine couple like yourselves will be out and about tonight!”

There was an almost starry glint from New America’s blue eyes as she grinned, which for the blushing male Survivor-Nation was an ill omen. I swear, if this winds like the last time you were here…

“There’s a catch isn’t there, Amelia?  The Good Lord does not like liars.”

“Please spare me the sermons,” she retorted. “All I’m saying is that ‘ya can have that nice little dinner at my expense. If ‘ya want, my car’s even available if you’re up for something faster than a gallop. Either way, I betcha it’s gonna be something ‘ya won’t regret. We mean it~”

We? Still, the Survivor-Nation shrugged it off; for all he knew, perhaps that expensive tour to the blasted ashes of the Old World might have given her a few lessons. Seeing a cautious nod of approval from Dinétah, he let a soft smile show at last. Besides, he wasn’t about to waste the rest of the evening in a fight with the other dominant force in the NAU. It’s not as if something will go wrong, not tonight.

“I suppose it would be rude of us to reject such a generous offer of goodwill.” Especially from a fraking Gentile like you.

--o--

Beyond the second-floor windows of the restaurant, the lights along Fillmore’s Main Street could be seen flickering on as day gave way to night. Various horse and buggies shared the thoroughfare with the occasional car that most likely was on official business, while on the sidewalks, costumed children ran around with little baskets for their candies, much like in an old movie. A few taller buildings were being built in the horizon, the scaffolding just visible above the refurbished brick and wooden buildings lining the street. And some of those, despite the intentionally vintage appearance, were only made in the last decade or so alone.  

Happy are those who do the work of the Lord, indeed, Daniel mused while taking a sip from a glass of water as he looked outside; the restaurant’s Zion curtain held a few bottles of sanctioned beer, but there hadn’t been wine stocked in years, and he wasn’t about to break his personal abstinence from alcohol now. His gaze soon turned to Mai, the lighting making her seem even more beautiful than usual. It helped as well that the entire floor was all to themselves. All while Amelia was nowhere in sight. It sure makes waiting for our meal much more pleasing. Though it is taking long.

Even now, he still couldn’t help but smile at, like his countrymen, just how far this once sleepy town had come. Known only for the old Utah Territorial Statehouse – or rather the Capitol House, as it’s now known with all the construction surrounding it – in the days of Old America, it had seen through the trials of the “hard times” and even been threatened by warlords. With those times well behind, it was becoming more like how Salt Lake City must have been in its early days, just as Young intended. At least, before the atomic fires consumed it. But it was a testament to Deseret’s endurance and Providence that all this was possible at all. 

Dinétah’s sigh, however caught his attention, snapping the Survivor-Nation out of his thoughts. “Is something the matter?”

“Ádzaaígíí bąąh shíniʼ, but doesn’t it worry you that our order has not come yet?” She then leaned in to whisper while pointing sharp glances at a young waiter close to the stairway, the man’s back to them while scribbling something on a notepad. “Maybe it is intuition, but he seems to play us for fools.”

He nodded, a part of him wondering if that man was in on what New America was likely plotting.  “Come to think of it, he’s stayed there for quite a while. Still, perhaps we should wait a minute more. Patience-”

“Is a virtue, yes,” Mai shrugged as she finished the old proverb. “But if Amelia is behind this, then she will never hear the end of it. Not while the Diné live.”  

You and me both. Eventually, the temptation to let “Love thy neighbor” slide for this case grew a lot stronger. But before either of them could raise their voices, the floor’s lights seemed to flicker on and off. While it wasn’t exactly unheard of for the electricity to be inconsistent even for newer buildings, it still unnerved him enough that he had to stand up just to steel himself. All while the waiter still had their back towards them. I won’t back down from this now… 

“What’s going on here?” the Survivor-Nation demanded. “Darn you, answer me!”

The man however chuckled and snapped his fingers, causing the window blinds behind the couple to close shut. Even as Deseret tried to hold back his girlfriend from lashing at the cackling voice in the darkness, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he recognized it somewhere.

“You wanted an unforgettable night, and you’re gonna get it! A fright night! A great – American tradition!”

“This isn’t funny, Amelia!” Though the Survivor-Nation had seen his share of harrowing experiences, it didn’t take too much to get under his skin. “Just end this charade now! For yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil! And not you! You Gentile son of a biscuit eater!”

There was an unnerving silence for a few, painfully unbearable moments, before he heard footsteps, ones that grew louder. Even as Daniel slowly moved his shooting arm closer to the .45 Automatic he kept under his waistcoat, he found himself frantically recalling every bit of Scripture he could conjure up from memory. Still, neither he nor Dinétah refused to be cowered, not even when the “waiter’s” body came into view, looking far more decayed for wear, while his face remained covered in shadow.

“I’m no biscuit eater, but watch the language Danny boy! You don’t wanna spoil the surprise!”

“Stay back, vile demon!” he snapped as he reached for his gun, only for the being to lunge at him, pinning the Survivor-Nation to a nearby wall. And worse, it allowed him to see a decayed, melted face behind broken glasses, much of its blond hair long rotted away; it was just enough to make out the resemblance. He could almost smell the dead husk of a country that perished in the atomic fires for his grievous sins. One whose decadent vision for the American Dream was being followed by his daughter. No…you can’t be… “Alfred Jones?!” 

“Boo!”

After a few moments, the only thing the Survivor-Nation could do was utter a single word.

“What?!”

“Dammit, not again!” The Old United States of America chuckled as he let go of Deseret, the long-dead Nation’s voice sliding back to a perkier, more youthful form. “Sorry ‘bout that. I took a few hints from Roderich’s lady, but I still seem to be a bit off the mark with this scaring business. I mean, it worked with Mattie for Pete's sake! But at least it sure beats putting holes in bed sheets again, right?”

“You shouldn't be here. It is against nature!” Daniel heard Mai snap as the lights once more flickered on. “After all you did to scorch this earth, how are you even alive?!”

“He’s not,” he replied as he finally regained his nerves. “’Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem; who said, Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation.’ Old America perished in the fires. Though the Lord must have quite the sense of humor to allow you to walk around in the land of the living!”

“Never said it’s easy for a hero like me to pull this off! You have no idea,” Alfred sighed as, with a snap of his fingers, he appeared in the prime of his life, his uniform and bomber jacket so pristine as though the past decades never happened. “Besides, thought I’d help out my little girl for Halloween!”

“By a sick joke?!”

“Actually, that’s my idea, Utah. Don’t blame the Old Man for this one!” The Survivor-Nation watched as Amelia slowly, almost apologetically crept out from one of the doors at the other end of the floor. “I just wanted to give ‘ya something to remember. Have a little fun, a nice surprise for everyone!“ 

“Surprise?!” Daniel snapped, pointing his finger as years’ worth of pent-up anger bubbled up. “Wasn’t your American Spring enough of a fraking surprise? I don’t know what kind of fraking lessons you got from your vanity tour. But I suppose those wayward souls had it right all along, you Gentile good for nothing piece of-“

“That’s enough!”

Before he could say anything more, Old America glared disappointedly at him, which for some unfathomable reason made it harder for Deseret to look him straight in the eye; for all his pretensions, deep down he knew he was not only still “young” by the standards of Nations but almost as “American” in origin as Amelia was. Almost. That glare, however, soon turned into a warmer, if more melancholy smile as he laid a soft pat on his shoulder.

“You’ve all come very far from the ‘hard times,’ and I couldn’t be happier for what you’ve made for yourselves. But I’ve had my fill of ‘brother against brother,’ kid. I ain’t gonna watch my little girl or anyone else repeat it because of me. Besides, cut her some slack. I couldn’t have asked for a better New America than her.”

Daniel frowned, even as the dead country’s words seemed to bring tears to Amelia’s eyes. “We are here because of what you did.”

“But you can do better than I ever could,” Alfred smiled he brought Amelia into an embrace. “I’ll always be here, if you want a helping hand. Still, it’s your world now, and if you guys want to make this land great again, then make it work together.”

“You ask for much, Bilagáana,” Dinétah sighed as she gently held onto Deseret’s free hand. “But by my honor, you have my word if she holds to hers. Wouldn’t you say so, ashkii?”

The Survivor-Nation nodded as Deseret took a deep sigh. It may take years, generations even, before he and New America could fully reconcile; perhaps only God knew when that day would come, if at all. But while he wouldn’t think of marrying that blonde even if the First Presidency decreed it – he doubted even Smith coming back from the dead or the Lord Himself telling him in person would be enough to sway him – neither did he want to wait until his countrymen’s blood ran down the streets or worse "hard times" to come in order to return some genuine goodwill. Love thy neighbor. Maybe it’s about time we stopped fighting. In the end, he managed a smile.

“As much as our dinner was ruined, I would be a hypocrite if forgiveness was denied even to her.“

“That’s the spirit!” Alfred grinned as his eyes, like his daughter, beamed. “Now then, on to the main course!”

“Wait, you mean to say all this time our burgers weren’t coming?”

“About that,” Amelia smirked as she leaned on one of the tables closeby. "Forgot to mention it, but I thought Old Man ‘Al could make ‘em better! He's also a hero in the classic backyard barbeque, dontcha know?” 

"Well, I don't wanna brag," the dead country nodded. "But I do know a few classics you might like to try out!"

The night was still young in Fillmore. All Daniel could do was sigh. 

Well then...what do I have to lose?