Flagrant Fragrant by Heron Djenne Canvasback

The Homecoming (romantic-drama/dystopian-fantasy)

In my sweats, hair scarf over my brown ponytail, and flowery apron, I was sweeping my blue with yellow accents two-story farmhouse's porch during sunset one Sunday afternoon; it was useless, since debris of the war smeared and cluttered my property overnight after my every attempt, but cleaning made my home feel like it was mine again.

July heat soaked everything but the vegetation, which was withering by the day since the Alternative-Confederates (Alt-Fed), who divided the union with its warhawk leaders, relocated all the farmhands to their work camps. That movement started a month ago. My kids and I would be starving if we hadn't canned crops. Heck. Just last week I was threatened to pay my taxes in crops for rations, or I'd be treated as a "terrorist" for "the treasonous act of aiding the disbanded Union".

Ten years ago, militia revolts and military coups started after the runner-up for president refused to concede, and then half of the congress joined him, shutting down the government in support of their party. America is now zones of political factions, fighting like Old World principalities. It's a good thing that the Union military and scientists fortified themselves, and all of the weapons of mass destruction, in what was once the nation capital. People say that's why we haven't been invaded by other countries, even though we just so happened to ruin the global economy with our fussing and fighting.

I swear. My husband, Chad, was supposed to be dead, yet he stood before me. I saw it with my own two brown eyes. He had on raggedy, ten year-old store-bought Army cargo pants, a threadbare hunting jacket, sand-colored boots, a dirty dark-colored canvas messenger bag, a shirt the same funky color as his bag, and a blue baseball cap that lost its name and number, that he threw down at my feet. 

The second civil war had gone on for ten years; five years ago, I got a letter announcing Chad's death; I had evacuated the house with the kids only hours before Alt-Feds tried to raid it; Chad was said to have died a few acres away, keeping our farmhouse safe. The next night, when we got the letter, also noting that it was safe to return home, our children slept beside me and we cried ourselves to sleep in my mother-in-law's plain single-story house; the journey was for the following morning but that night was for weeping.

I stared at Chad not really knowing what to do. What could I do?

Thoughts swarmed through my head like the bees in the nest I destroyed yesterday. My fingers and muscles ached from the stingers but my kids were playing with it like a bunch of hooligans. I'd face the devil and spit in his eyes to protect my kids. That's why I'm sending them to New York yesterday on the last caravan from Minnesota to the final train to the East Coast with my mama and brother. Rumor has it, that's where the old Union, in Washington D.C. is creating a Utopia for those with 'modern sensibilities instead of brawling brutes'.

Is Chad truly here? Am I seeing things? Should I greet or shun him? Is this really my husband? All I knew was that I was covered in bruises and sweat, and this stranger could be here to kill my children and me in our sleep.

"What'cha want?" I demanded.

He was taken back. His big brown eyes held back tears of hurt and misunderstanding. Who was he to think that I would welcome him back after all this time without question?

He scowled, distorting his face as if to match his now disheveled brown hair; I had an urge to fuss over him but I crossed my arms instead.

"What do I want, Anna?" He paused as if reconsidering his upcoming rant, then stepped closer to me. "I want to be here with my family. I was captured by the Alt-Feds, tortured for two and a half years, and tryin' to get back home the rest of the time. Has the wait made you this bitter?"

"Bitter!" I clenched my teeth. "Don't tell me that old lie. The Minnesotan Counter-Revolt was defeated during the fifth year, but as one of their solders, you already knew that. How stupid do you think I am?"

"You aren't stupid, darling." He smiled weakly.  "What was left of their army went underground; they are working with their counterparts, the Iowans. Why are you questioning me?"

I spat at his hat. "You know why!"

His eyes pleaded with me and I softened my voice. His voice was now just as scratchy as it was sharp.  The Kentucky gentleman I once loved is as wild as I thought I used to be.

I sighed with my hand son my hips. "Tell me everything that happened."

We sat down on the porch, and until it was too dark to see yards beyond our porch's lanterns. He told me his war stories and I told him about the wounded soldiers in our house. I held his hands; war had made them rougher than fieldwork.

I hugged him, crying into his dingy attire. "I missed you."

Then, I sense movement, and looked far back in the yard. That was when I saw a torchlight illuminating my clean husband in a newer make of what was once the Union's Army uniform.

The approaching Chad screamed. "Anna, they know! They sent drones and then my clone!"

I backed away from the man beside me. "Since when did the Alt-Feds learn cloning?"

My Chad ran faster towards me, silent in panic. Desperate strained his eyes.

"The Russians taught us." The imposter pulled an antenna, from a device in his jacket pocket, and spoke in it. "This is Vlad. Mission complete, Benny." The suicide bomber pressed detonator attached to his radio. Death was in his chest. My true husband was just a foot away but tackling the imposter only made him feel better. There was fire, and then what was once my home was wasteland, and all that I loved were but decayed singed matter, as was I.