The Red Pheasant Inn

Clarence and Phyllis had first heard of The Red Pheasant Inn as it was back in the old times. Clarence's father and mother had honeymooned there and often told stories of the long walks they would take through the rolling countryside and how they would enjoy glasses of locally grown wines. The Inn was at least a century old, built of stone hewn from the ground from the nearby hills and transported by donkey cart. It wasn't big, it wasn't fancy but it had charm. At least those were the stories told by Clarence's father.

When Clarence and Phyllis got serious about their relationship and knew that marriage was the direction in which they would go, they agreed that a trip to the Inn was to be on their honeymoon itinerary. To seal the deal Clarence gave Phyllis a heart-shaped locket that his father had bought for his mother at the Inn those many years before. Phyllis treasured the locket because it was tiny and exquisite; it had been hand-crafted by a jeweler in the village not far from The Red Pheasant Inn. The locket was one of the few things she had packed when she and Clarence had fled before the bombings began.

That war was coming was no secret to anyone but that it was coming so soon and with such devastation came as a shock to everyone.

Phyllis was not a believer in premonitions or in portents. Didn't matter that her great-great-great-grandmother claimed to be a seer and that the ability was said to be passed from generation to generation. To Phyllis it was a story, nothing more. Until the rumblings of war began. And with the rumblings came the visions. Always at night so that she was never sure if they were dreams or portents of something to come. All she knew was that awfulness was on its way and it was not to be ignored.

Clarence, of course, knew all about Phyllis' triple-great grandmother. Once he was a part of the family he'd been told all the amazing stories. So when Phyllis started having dreams - nightmares - of coming doom, he paid attention. He began planning.

The biggest question for them was, where could they go? And when should they leave? Clarence and Phyllis had no children and were in their early 50s. With middle age upon them they had no qualms about uprooting and relocating. But where would they be safe? Would anywhere be safe?

They began making preparations. They closed out bank accounts and shut off utilities. They decided to travel by car and only take what would fit in the car. Phyllis was brutal in sifting through the flotsam and jetsam of their lives, keeping only those items either precious or necessary. With them in one fireproof metal box came their wedding license, passports, health records, insurance records - and other kinds of legal bits of paper they thought they would need. In a second fireproof metal box Phyllis put their precious memories - the photos and other small items of sentimental value they simply couldn't bear to leave behind.

The rest of the space in the car was maximized to carry survival necessities including food, water, first aid items, clothes, blankets, sleeping bags. They brainstormed as best they could trying to envision the unimaginable.

One night Phyllis had a vision nightmare from which she awoke screaming. That's when they knew it was time to go. The first bomb had not yet been dropped but in her vision the apocalypse had arrived.

Clarence had spent weeks, since the first of Phyllis's dreams, trying to figure out where they could run. Because he knew it would come down to that - running. He wanted to know where and how they could get to wherever that would be, as quickly as they could.

The Red Pheasant Inn. It had stood for so many years. Maybe it would withstand whatever was coming. By car the journey would take them a week. The Inn was located in the mountains rather far from any major urban areas or cities. Maybe not too many other people would think to run there for shelter against the coming storm.

As it was Clarence and Phyllis were amongst the lucky ones. They left their home the morning of Phyllis's horrible nightmare. Thanks to Clarence's foresightedness in trading in their old sedan for a large 4-wheel drive vehicle they were able to travel with relative ease and speed. Although there had been rumblings in the news about states closing borders, none of that had happened yet. They arrived safely at the Inn.

The Red Pheasant Inn was small and did not have many rooms. Because of its remoteness, and the fact the owners didn't bother to promote their business, it wasn't widely known as a vacation destination. Clarence couldn't quite remember how his parents had come to honeymoon there, but as he pulled in at the Inn he was very glad they did. Clarence and Phyllis were able to claim the last available room.

They spent their first day unloading their belongs into their room. Phyllis knew that this would be home for quite some time.

The bombs began to fall three days later.

All communication with the outside world disappeared as if it had never been. No cell service, no landline telephone service, no cable television, nothing. One of the Inn's other customers had brought a satelitte phone but it did not work either. Everyone began to wonder just how long the little inn's electrical power would last. It would not be long. Everyone at the Inn learned quickly how to make candles.

Phyllis's dreams began to calm into a foggy sameness. She would wake tired and listless. It was as if the life was draining from her as it seemed to be draining from the world outside. Clarence worried about her. He worried about himself and everything. When he ventured outdoors during the daytime now he could not see the sun; at night he could not see the moon or the stars. A thick blanket of dark seemed to envelope the globe.

Word began to reach them from people passing through the mountains trying to escape from somewhere to head somewhere else. The word was that governments had crumbled. Food was scarce. Water was contaminated. Hope was dwindling that anyone survived who had lived in cities or coastal areas. Information reached them that it was believed that no country had been spared either the bombs or the fallout from them.

A few years went by. Clarence continued to help husband the sickly grapevines that refused to die because he could no longer be husband to his Phyllis. She had passed, unable to bear the darkness that had descended with the visions and dreams. She, with half of the other survivors staying at the Inn, were buried on a hilltop about a half hour's walk from the vineyard.

He and the remaining survivors did the best they could to maintain life. The centuries old well on the property continued to produce clean water by some unexplainable miracle. They managed to grow just enough vegetables to get by themselves and to trade with neighboring enclaves. There were small pockets of humanity struggling like they were, dotting the mountainous regions.

Clarence stood one day and looked up at the dome of the sky. It was a dusty looking gray. He wondered if he would see the sun shining in a bright blue sky ever again in his lifetime. He wondered if he could wait that long. Hope, that ephemeral element, was buried on the hill with his Phyllis.