On this episode, “No Heroes, Only Survivors”, a young boy, left alone in a post-apocalyptic world to fight for his own survival, is faced with a tragic test. As he confronts a final showdown, will he find himself able to rise to the challenge? Our story this week then leads to an often hilarious look at the dos and don’ts when trying to survive an apocalypse.
Enjoying SMIRK? Then please be sure to share the show through your social media outlets!
Welcome to Smirk. A podcast that covers society and culture through a storytelling lens. Part creative writing, part discussion, and always interesting. Each week our hosts brings a story to the show, a story they wrote themselves, which is immediately followed by discussion on the author’s moral or theme.
These stories can cover any topic the host wants to discuss, it can be lighthearted or more serious. No one but the author knows if these tales are truth or fiction, and part of the fun is guessing while you’re listening before the reality is made clear.
We want to hear from you! If you want to share YOUR story, join the conversation by writing in to mystory@smirkpodcast.com, and include your moral, or you can let us guess at it. This is the podcast that looks at truth, fiction, and reality. With a Smirk.
Don’t forget to subscribe to Smirk and share the show with your friends!
Want to read Zack’s story “No Heroes, Only Survivors” in full? Think you can identify the moral or theme for this episode? Read it below, and then take a listen to the podcast.
No Heroes, Only Survivors
They say the world used to be better. That there was food all over, and nobody had to starve. John didn’t know this world. He wasn’t lucky enough to be born into it. He knew only survival.
His mother died several months ago. At least, that’s what he told himself. Raiders had taken her, and he hoped they had been kind enough to kill her. The alternative was too hard to bear. Pennsylvania was a harder area than most, but John didn’t have much driving force other than revenge. So, he had pressed onward into the city.
Vines overtook buildings, animals roamed free, and nature had fully taken its revenge. Cars littered the streets, and even if John knew how to operate one, few still ran. They were a precious commodity in this world, and a sign you were important. Or vicious. A person with a vehicle was a scary thing indeed, and John had only ever seen one. His mother kept them far away from it. She had always been his protector. He could tell it wore on her more and more as time went on, but he wouldn’t have lived to 14 without her.
Finally, John approached the bridge he knew the raiders were camping under; dinner slung over his shoulder. He kept his rabbit traps far away, to better avoid being spotted by the raider camp. He had been smart enough to keep his distance all these months, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize anything now. He had camped in a building with a tall enough vantage point to watch the camp. He made his way up.
Finally reaching near the top of the final flight of stairs, a flicker of light shone ahead. Candlelight. But John hadn’t a candle at all, let alone was he foolish enough to leave it burning. He drew the machete – his only viable offense – and crept into the room. In front of him was a child, a boy about his age. John had been discovered.
He knew what to do, what his mother had taught him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran towards the boy. The boy didn’t even have time for shock to appear on his face, John moved so quickly. Adrenaline coursed through every fiber of John’s being as he stabbed the machete into the boy’s abdomen. Barely a gasp could be heard through the hand John held over the boy’s mouth. A perfect, quiet kill. Just like mother had taught.
It was John’s first kill, but just as his mother had promised, it was easier than he thought. John felt no remorse for the boy. It was a brutal world, and kill-or-be killed reigned as the law of the land. He checked the corpse for useful supplies after hushing the flame. Sure enough, the boy had a gun on him. Three bullets, even. John just gotten a great gift from his would-be enemy.
Knowing killing was as simple for him as it was for his mother, John decided tonight was the night to infiltrate the raiders’ camp. He couldn’t very well stay here after being discovered. He abandoned his plans to eat, and instead decided to attack. Under the cover of night, he could improvise.
He slinked down under the bridge. This late at night, the raiders would only have a few men and women awake on watch. They felt safe here; this was their home. John couldn’t wait to make them regret it. He hid in a nearby bush and watched the patrols. Nobody was moving, but it looked like a guard was posted on four sides of the camp. He noticed one was fighting off sleep, and that would be his target. Taking every caution, he approached the man sitting on the edge of camp. By the time John reached him, the man had fallen asleep, making John’s crusade of vengeance all the simpler.
His plan was to kill his way to the biggest tent, presumably their leader’s, and make him answer for his mother’s life. John made his way to the sleeping man, and did not hesitate as he slit his throat. It was messier than the boy earlier, but he made sure to hold his hand over the mouth until death. It was what his mother taught him, and he would make her proud.
John approached further into the camp, using a near tent as cover. As he sidled next to it, he made a mistake and brushed into it. John froze to see if the occupant noticed, but he didn’t see anyone come out. A close call, but he was safe for now. He stayed low to the ground as he pressed inward. He didn’t get very far before being tackled from behind. John felt a sharp pain at the back of his head before blacking out.
He woke up to a gruff man speaking, “Get the boss. Caught us an idiot boy. Was trying to sneak into our camp.”
Through blurred vision, John watched as a woman walked through a tent’s doorway. This tent had curtained doorways, so it could only belong to the boss. Though getting captured wasn’t a part of the plan, he was still about to come face-to-face with the man responsible for killing his mother. Fantasies swirled through his head on how to deal with the monster, but he was still groggy and being held tight by the man that captured him.
It only took a few moments for the boss to step through the doorway. “Brought him right to you, ma’am. Knew you’d want to deal the punishment yourself.” The man sounded quite proud of himself. John wondered how the man would be acting if he knew the corpse of his comrade laid only feet away at the camp’s edge. His vision returning, John could make out the details of the boss. Black, curly hair cut around mid-neck. Sharp, green eyes.
John could only think of one thing to say.
“Mom?”