FO4 | Book 0: The Diaries of Anarchy ✔️

March 20, 2249

 We were standin' ankle-deep in the garden with our pants legs rolled up and dirt smeared on our clothes. Guy didn't look too happy about it.

"What's with you?" I asked in my little eight-year-old voice. I always tried to deepen my voice when I was being serious with him.

"What do you think?" he answered coldly. "How long you wanna roll around in the dirt in order to eat, huh?"

I just blinked at him in confusion. "Whaddya mean?"

He shook his head. "Nevermind. You'll either get it when you're older or you won't."

I carefully pulled carrots outta the ground and shook the dirt off. Once they were mostly clean, I laid them in the wooden crate on the soil. Guy was pullin' ripe tatoes off the vines.

"Hey, John."

"Yeah?"

He grabbed the back of my shirt collar and shoved a mushy tato down the back of my shirt.

"Ew, Guy! Gross! Stop!"

He just laughed as my face went red, and I shook the nasty thing out of my shirt. My back felt slimy and gross.

"You two almost finished?" asked my mom from the side door to the house. "I've got the water boiling on the stove now."

Guy picked up the wooden crate we were filling. I dusted my hands off on my pants and followed him as he carried the heavy box through the door and into the kitchen. I had half a mind to complain to Mom, but I left it alone. I knew he'd wind up weaseling his way outta gettin' a reprimanding. Besides, Mom looked too tired to hear it.

We couldn't pick 'em as fast as our dad could, but Mom still smiled at our hard work and gave us both a pat on the back. "Go wash up," she ordered.

Guy and I headed up the stairs — or, rather, we raced to see who could reach the top faster — to our shared bathroom. He made it to the top of the stairs first, of course, because his legs were long enough to skip every other step. We washed our hands in the bathroom sink that barely tricked water through the faucet.

"You think Dad's gonna be back before dinner?" I asked my brother.

"Maybe. Maybe not." He shrugged. "Depends on if he found a trader on the road before he made it to town."

____________________

We ate quietly at the table. It was already dark outside and our dad was nowhere to be seen. My mom broke the silence first.

"So, did you boys have a good day?"

My brother shrugged. "I guess."

"What about you, John?"

I nodded. "It was good. We were down by the shore this morning and saw this huge —"

Just then, the side door opened, and in trudged my father, downtrodden and exhausted.

"Patrick?" My mom stood up from the table.

"I'm fine, Martha," he sighed. He handed her a rugged old backpack. He had another bag in his hand made of burlap that he kept for himself. "I got everything we needed."

She took the backpack from him. Its weight was almost too heavy, but she managed to set it on the counter by the stove and rummage through it.

"Canned beans... snack cakes... cigarettes..."

"It's all there," he assured her as she pulled out each item one by one.

She glanced at him and caught a glimpse of the bag he was carryin' to the living room. She sighed when he sat the bag down, the clinkin' of glass bottles hittin' together.

"What's for dinner?" he called.

"Brahmin steaks, stuffed tatoes, and corn on the cob."

"Sounds good, I'm starving."

My brother and I didn't say a word as he took a seat at the table and started eating his cold steak.