Alt Vegas: Nuclear Dreams

​Chapter 1

Patsy Helms fought the dizzy spell. She shut her eyes, grasped the counter for support and controlled her breathing until the spell passed. When she felt like she wasn’t going to keel over, she opened her eyes, took a big breath, and let it out slowly.

I'm too strong for this shit.

She slapped her hand on the table, shouted it to the empty home.

I’m strong enough!

She thought the painkillers would have been strong enough when the time came, she now feared otherwise. You do what you can with what you have. With that thought Patsy grabbed the bottle of painkillers wishing for something stronger and chucked down four more caplets with a large glass of white wine. Over the past 24 hours, she’d been downing aspirins and anti-inflammatories like candy, long term effects didn’t concern her any more. And thinking about it wouldn’t help. She was beyond help.

Steadier now, she tottered to the living room and looked out at the backyard behind the large glass sliding door. The sight brought her as much joy as fear. Beneath a glorious blue sky, fenced in by trees whose growth spanned generation, a field of tall verdant plants grew in the wide lot behind her home. In the dark rich loam, the seed she planted when she first crawled into this corner of the world flourished behind all expectations in the rich and dark soil. Were she to go outside and walk in the field of flowers, their tops would reach almost mid-thigh. All plants were blooming, and their flowers sported large heads of petals rich with hues of warm orange-golds that shimmered in the light; at the bloom’s center were four large orange-gold pistils. Too bad they had to be weeded almost daily to kill the budding Razorweeds that grew along their stems, but they now had a living portal. An organic door to another world.

She thought of the Razorweeds. They still knew nothing of the bizarre symbiotic relationship between plant and animal. For that matter, they knew nothing of how the plant worked. How did it create a portal? But so what? So what... She groaned at that arrogance, that naiveté. To celebrate, she had gone to the crop in the wide backyard and cut three of the smaller blooms wearing her thick thorn-defying gloves. The stiff, fibrous stems were no match for her pruning shears, and that evening, her prize took pride of place in a vase at the dining room table, where dinner was set for one. She thought of her daughter, how she’d now see her soon. That night she ate a favorite meal with a well-recommended, rich red wine that didn’t disappoint, and ended the dinner with the most decadent dessert from the local grocery store. Contended she sipped one more glass of wine, watching as the iridescent orange-gold pollen fell from the flowers’ stamens onto the tablecloth or airborne drifted pulled along by the breeze.  She sneezed loudly and set about cleaning the table. A good book before bed ended her day.

That had been two days ago. Today, it was bad. Her legs went out from under her, and she dropped on the couch like a dead weight. It took effort to pick up the black, blocky landline from the nearby table, a 1950s-style rotary phone she’d taken with her when she’d crawled through the original entrance. She dialed, the rotary dial spun with each number, the phone rang and rang, and she grew anxious. At last, someone picked up.

Patsy.

It’s time, dear.

Thank you, thank you so much.

Tell Norma I love her.

You will when we meet up. I love you, big sister.

Patsy heard joy and excitement in her sister’s voice. Her usually stoic sister, wonders never ceased. No use letting her know how sick she was, it wouldn’t help.

I know, Della, I love you too.

She hung up the phone and scratched a sudden intense itch in the palm of her hand.

Ah! She yelped in pain. Her nails had scratched opened an exit in the flesh of her shaking palm, and free of the restraining skin, a slender white root uncurled from the bloody gouge. 

​Chapter 2

Who’s happeneeeeng?!?! Mandy squealed as she filmed his profile with her smartphone.

Sitting comfortably in the passenger’s side seat, with her back resting against the door. Her knees were up and her feet planted on his thigh.

Jesus Christ. Kyle Ansel smothered a sigh and beat down his irritation. It had been a long drive and taking it out on her would be an utter shit thing to do. He forced himself into a better mood and a wiser reply.

We’re happening. You shouldn’t sit like that. What if the door popped open, or I hit something?

Oh my God, ‘dad.’ C’mon, say ‘We’re happening’ like you mean it!

No. I’m fucking tired, and please. Point that thing away from me. It makes me self-conscious.

Jesus, grumpy much? She lifted her feet, swiveled in her seat and leaned over to kiss his cheek before sitting back down and placing both bare feet on the dashboard.

You know...I’ve seen x-rays of people who had their feet on the dashboards when their car wrecked.

I guess you better mind your driving, then we won’t be looking at any x-rays of my feet somewhere up in my ribcage anytime soon.

He glanced at her, relieved to see that she’d put away the camera app, opting instead for scrolling through her many social feeds. Insta, TickTock or Snap? Facebook or Twitter? He couldn’t tell them apart. Kyle turned to look at her, hell, to admired her profile. His annoyance evaporated. Damn, she was beautiful. Her long wavy blond hair was drawn up in a messy ponytail near the top of her head, letting wild wisps of hair escape over her ears, giving her an appearance of creative zaniness. Freckles on her strong, tanned face and a tiny, almost invisible scar under her lower lip. He loved her. He was sure he did, which—was ideal seeing as to how they finally tied the knot two months back. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t wrap his brain around her constant filming and documenting of even the dumbest things. For the love of God. Who the hell tuned in to watch a video of them getting a coffee?

You know we exist even if people don’t tap ‘like’ or see the videos, right?

With a disappointed smirk she rolled her eyes at him. Don’t patronize, all right? This is one of my businesses, the social part of social media, where I nurture a following, make connections, and you know? Network.

He groaned an ambiguous assent, network...Jesus. They spent the rest of the trip in companionable silence until they reached a fork in the highway, leading onto a semi-paved country road. Then, in animated conversation, they marveled at their new surroundings. A road flanked by trees that for stretches were thick enough to shut off the view of the open fields behind them. They passed homes and barns, the occasional grain silos popped up like sentinels along the way, as did a scant number of abandoned barns in the process of being deconstructed by time and weather. Kyle was sure they’d passed what looked like organic farms, a beekeeper, and just now, the last property before their parcel looked like it belonged to a potter. Two large kilns on the property's grounds looked like a dead giveaway for their neighbor's profession. After ten minutes of deliberate and careful driving through a road overrun with vegetation, he parked on a barren patch of dirt and with a sigh of relief and got out of the truck, moving like a slow old man.

We’re home! Finally! He bent over and stretched his hamstring groaning with relief.

Mandy bounced out. Oh. My. God! It’s so beautiful! We’ll love it here, life is going as planned, and I’m not afraid to say it.

Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll be worried for the both of us.

She scoffed and filled her lungs with the fresh country air.

And all this land is ours, and I love it. He groaned and stretched his stiff back, our land.

Mandy walked behind, ran her hands under his t-shirt and began to massage his lower back, enjoying the warmth and the sensation of his skin under her fingers.

We’re the best looking, most happenin’, sexiest couple in this state, and we’re real estate developers, moguls in the making.

It’s gonna be a while before the money rolls in, so let’s not spend it yet. He thought of the last price he saw for wood, and his guts rolled over. The pandemic economy was a bitch and a half.

Amanda felt him tense and wrapped her arms around him, What’s wrong? You’ve been so moody all day.

Tired, and this all it’s just a lot to think about. And I just thought of the price of wood. That alone, ouch.

We’re going to be fine.

He turned and saw her smartphone set up on the truck's hood, discretely filming away.

God...No, I said no!

He pushed her hands off, went to grab the phone, and turned it off before slapping it down on the hood.

Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head.

I have a channel, we make money off it, my followers want to be involved, we agreed I would vlog this. We agreed it would help sell the homes when they were ready.

Yeah, I get it, but you can do it without my appearance. It’s your vlog not mine. You should have told me before filming anyway.

She bit her lip and waited until she knew she wouldn’t bite his head off.  It wasn’t pointed at us! Look, I don’t need or want another argument; I’m going for a walk and will be back in a bit.

You can set up the damn trailer, she thought.

We’re going to eat in a bit, okay? Hey, okay? Amanda?

As she walked away, she ignored him, heading down the country road they had just traveled. With each step, her muscles and joints loosened and relaxed, and she couldn't help but appreciate how draining the trip had been. No doubt Kyle felt the same exhaustion. But were married couples supposed to argue this much? She doubted it, and it was beginning to scare her. They met in their first year at a small community college, fell in love, and planned their future. Saved every penny, squeezed each nickel, held on to every fucking dime. So they could start a home-developing business as free of debt as possible. They bought the land and had the funds to build two ‘half-houses’ that would sell for the price of full houses in today’s market. The location was great, the potential for money was good, and the property taxes were okay. They’d planned on roughing it, living in their trailer while working on their project. Mack Dupree, the other partner in their home-building venture, was on the way to join them. Mack was her best friend, and he also won over Kyle, mostly.. Having him around would help, and together, with their own hands, they’d build their dream.

​Chapter 3

Sam Oswell delivered two boxes full of new vases, mugs, and platters to the Dalton Gallery in the heart of Esperville. Old downtown Esperville, once just ten-square blocks in the early 1920s, was now a charming college town. The city government worked hard to develop the area, turning the older neighborhoods and architecture into trendy and artsy sections and a series of historical homes offering visitors summer tours. They worked to keep and encourage the older established businesses while inviting new ones. A small town with ambitions that had begun to grow until the Moscow Flu brought all progress to a brutal stop, with all small business owners again trying to adjust, pivot and spin just to stay afloat.

The Gallery was one such place, established in the 70s by a local artist who’d since gone to that big art studio in the sky. His daughter, Ali Dalton, ran the place now. She passed Sam the contract for the delivered pieces, who, familiar with it from experience gave it a perfunctory review before signing it. He slid the contract across the table as Ali set aside the crumpled paper padding and removed the ceramic pieces from their boxes individually. Slowly and methodically, holding each to the light from the skylight above and admiring how the sunlight brought out the best from the intense glazes and details.

Sam liked being in her company. Ali, with her trim figure, alert and lively eyes, and happy laugh lines. The good kind of wrinkles. He also appreciated that her attractive and feminine looks hid a shrewd mind with a gift for business that helped her make a success of the gallery. She put his raku vase with the rainbow-like iridescent glaze back on the table with the other pieces and caught him looking at her.

I love your work, and the glazes are so...rich. And two of these pieces are as beautiful as they are disturbing.

She picked up a sculpture. A swirling, imperfect circle that would stand on its side. Glazed in reds, dark browns and gold.

It makes me think of a tangle of barbed wires. But they are alive and chasing each other in a loop. Might be too artistic for the local crowd.

Really? The last batch sold out great.

She smiled at him. A lot sold online to a collector. You have a patron now and the attention of a more sophisticated clientele. Your work used to be...more-

Kitch?

She tsked and gave him a disapproving frown. Artists are always so hard on themselves. Gentle is the word I was looking for. Gentle, and  approachable, accessible.

Mugs and pots are easy to access. He chided with a shy smile.

She took his hands in hers, stepped back and looked at him from head to toe, then back up again until she stopped at his eyes. Ali gave a disapproving shake of her head, let go of his hand and tapped his chest. Let me take you out to dinner. You’ve been neglecting yourself.

I’m flattered, Ali, but I think I’ll pass this time. I have work to do at home.

She looked at the dark bags under his eyes, the clothes that now looked too large on his frame and worried. Sam was a tallish man with warm hazel eyes, his mouse brown hair gone halfway to gray. But he’d been a heavier-set man in the past, with broad shoulders, a comfortable belly and muscular limbs.

Really Sam, what are you? Six-four and a buck fifty?  You’re getting a bit too skinny.

I’m fine.

For a scarecrow.

Let it go Ali, please. I’ll take a raincheck, ok?

She let it go with a tilt of her head and shrug. Some people were tough nuts to crack. Better to try again some other day. If she kept nagging him now, she might alienate him for good.

"Raincheck then, but you have to take better care of yourself. Have you met your new neighbors yet?

What new neighbors?

The old Helms place was all the news at last night's chamber of commerce meeting. It’s been sold to some out-of-town developers.

He shook his head, I didn’t know.

Sight unseen, from California. They may even be there now. I did the math. Seven years! Patsy went missing seven years ago and... With a gasp and looking mortified, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Sam, I’m so sorry.

His son had disappeared on the same day.

​Chapter 4

Mandy began exploring the place with a GoPro in her pocket and smartphone in hand. They agreed that she would blog and vlog their adventures daily. Some of her followers became friends, a few mentors, and others were just nice folks to hang with. And the rest? Well, it felt great to have so many people looking up to her, wanting to know how she was doing and how she was doing it. She was having a positive influence on others' lives and was proud of it. Plus, it had begun to bring in some modest profits, and some endorsements could help her channel along. She knew Kyle hoped she'd tire of her media channels and do something unrelated to social media. Why, oh why, did she fall in love with an introvert with baggage?  Being a public persona didn't entice him a bit. He’d embraced mask-wearing and social distancing over the pandemic, and didn’t understand why anyone would complain about staying far away from other people as long as they could afford to. He embraced hiding his face behind the comfort of a KN-95 mask and called it extra privacy. Jesus Christ, you’d think he was in the Witness Protection Agency.

As long as he didn’t try to hide her cameras again. She thought of that recent outrage and grimaced. It took two days, the threat of a divorce, tears, and the promise not to film him again without his okay before he returned her gear. It had been their worst argument yet. Mandy walked along the country road, packed dirt, potholes, and gravel, no sidewalks to speak of. They’d have to hook up sewer access. She arrived at the potter’s home they passed on the way up and took a better look. Nobody around. Live stream? No, too many unknowns, and she preferred to deliver a well-edited video. Mandy cleared her voice and turned on the camera.

And this is the home nearest to us in beautiful countryside. This house is, hmm...I’d say an original Craftsman-style home. We’re looking at a well-kept old lady with great bones; I love, love, LOVE that beautiful, wide front porch. Look at those piers. Beefy, and square. You can just imagine the summer nights spent looking at the stars from that porch. She turned the camera on herself and lowered her voice. I won’t intrude, but I’ll take a polite look at the back from over here. We have an artistic neighbor with two big pottery kilns. We’ll have to come back later and introduce ourselves. Maybe bring a welcome present, and they’ll show us their art.

She turned off her camera, filming herself ignoring the sign that explicitly warned ‘private property,’ seemed damned stupid.

Just a quick look.

The driveway wasn’t much more than packed hearth and gravel. Mandy passed the front of the house and kept going on a path that twisted around its side, where a second smaller building had been turned into an art studio. Next to it, shards of pottery created an altar to the clay gods at the base of a tall fir.  She knelt and plucked a fired remain from the lot. Just looking at the failures made her want to come back and see the pieces that survived the firing. Yes, one hundred percent worth coming back for. Done right it would get plenty of views, and maybe it could even make for a documentary.  She’d come back and film with proper authorization. She got up and shivered with a sudden chill.

It’s getting chilly, it’s getting cold. Hello summer, where’d you go? She sing-singed to herself and reached up to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Her stomach growled. Hell with this, I’m tired.

She headed back to their trailer. On their land, their hope for a seat at the table of moneyed America. Something to be proud of, she thought. And picked up her phone to record herself again. 

It’s chilly now. We have some amazing tree cover, and the breeze has picked up, but summers will be hot, sunny, and utterly amazing. She breathed in the cooler air and noticed there were no other sounds. None, no birds, no insects. The type of silence that invited reflection, yet she tried again to engage.

I think this summer might be off to a slow start. La Niña will do that, or is it El Niño? I always get those two mixed up. But the air is so fresh.  So, no, I’m not feeling it.

She slipped the phone in the back pocket of her shorts and felt her wariness drop as soon as it was out of her hands. With the pressure of creating and performing gone, she relaxed and took in her surroundings. Taking the time to peer in the underbrush for unusual movement. Maybe she’d see a raccoon, or a possum, maybe even a coyote! What else might be here? She went through her mental inventory of possible mammals indigenous to the area, confident that the only ones that might not be about were bears, wolves or cougars, Not this close to habitations anyway, but the silence. The silence, was that normal?

In a book or a movie, there’d be a dangerous predator in the woods, shutting up the chirps of the local wildlife. But this is the Oregon rural countryside, not the Savanah; it must be global warming.

Still, she picked up the pace, now unsettled by the silence that had soothed her just moments ago. Sucks to be you, nature. You won’t be silent for long. She thought with a tinge of resentment and some guilt. If it all went to plan, they’d be building two duplexes. They’d soon be making noise aplenty. Then they’d sell and with the profits would build more housing, and so on. Turning wild nature into a safe, cozy living neighborhood. Because Esperville wasn't just a quaint college town, it was damn close to a growing tech hub, with well-paid employees who liked living close to their job for the easy commute and would pay well for it. Gentrification and growth were on the way.

She chanced upon a route along the road from the corner of her eye. An ancient-looking mailbox, bested by the whims of the weather and the burden of the weight of the invasive ivy growing over it, leaned at an angle as if pointing the way. Her curious nature pushed her along the overgrown path that grew denser with each step until at last, in the waning light, she found her prize—a mound of wild vegetation whose shape suggested it buried a house a long while back.

What the hell?

She drew as close as she could and saw siding and a roof amid the lush greenery.

Well, hello. It isn’t a mini hill. It’s a house.

Mindful of where she stepped, she hedged along the path to where she figured the door would be, picked up a slender branch from the ground, and wrestled the heavy vines aside until it broke, but not before it revealed a door. She grinned, satisfied with her discovery. Who knew what was in there? She might snap some good photos, maybe catch glimpses of the previous owner's life. There was no way she could walk in for a better look now. It was getting dark, and the vegetation didn’t allow much room for movement with the thick undergrowth and its vicious-looking brambles, some of the bigger vines as thick as her forearm and sporting thorns the length of her thumb. Her prize would remain hidden for now. She gingerly backtracked and noticed the berries on a vine, plucking one almost as large as a ping-pong ball. Something about it, though. It looked swollen with rot, and she tossed it to the ground with a grimace of disgust, wiping her hand on her jeans before looking back at the tangled mess.

I’ll be back for you.

###

Kyle had finished setting up the trailer, grabbed a cold drink and threw a blanket on the ground so he could stretch his travel-stiffened body in the shadow of their cheap 30-footer from 2010 that would be their home for the duration of their project. He spread his legs and tilted forward, stretching his hamstrings when his phone vibrated and jingled. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID.

"About