Bob Knarwhal's Caboodle of Short Tales

2. The Sentinel

I sat on the bonnet of Grandpa's old, blue Ford Anglia – a relic from a time before the power went out. Penfold, our stupid but loyal dog, sat by me and gazed out at the same spot in the sky where I was looking. My eyes followed something black that was circling the head of The Sky Gazer in the distance. 'Gabe', we call him. Mum said the name came from 'Gabriel', which was a spirit character from Millennial Christianity, but I don't really know anything about those stories.

"Is it an eagle?" asked an excited voice from behind me. I turned around to see my little brother, Eric,  looking to the same spot above Gabe's head as where Penfold and I was looking . Eric never broke eye-contact with that spot, even as he scrambled onto the Anglia's roof whilst fighting off Penfold, who was trying to get at the stick Eric was holding.

"Y'know, Eric..." I said to my brother, "I think it just might be an eagle. There aren't many field or hedge birds that circle like that, and especially not that high in an August sky."

"I wish we had a photographer," said Eric, tapping his stick on the car roof.

"You mean a camera."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, a camera was the machine that took photographs, like the ones of Grandpa and Ethel on the pantry door." I explained. "A photographer was the person that used the camera."

"Right," said Eric. "Well I wish we had both. Eagles are super-rare. I wish I could see one up close."

"Yeah, me too. Photography would have made a better hobby than darning your clothes, eh squirt?"

Eric laughed and punched my arm playfully. Penfold barked nervously at our subtle violence. He didn't know what to do when humans made sudden contact, so he tried to be protective; he just got a little confused when the two people making contact were the two people he wanted to protect the most. I looked at his white fur in the sun. The small lumps on his right leg, neck and hip were untreatable, according to Dad. I was going to miss that dog.

"How did we get here?" asked Eric, suddenly.

"Say what now?" I asked, confused at the sudden break in the silent, warm day. The whispers in the wheat field past our  fences made me drowsy in this heat.

"How did we get here?" Eric repeated.

"Oh hell, I'm not going to have that talk wi-"

"Shut up! Eww! Gross! I know how we got here...got here," said Eric, going red. "I want to know how people got here." At the look of bewilderment on my face (which wasn't helped by the fading horror that I might have to explain the birds and the bees to my nine-year old brother), Eric continued, "I just mean, if we had photographers and other machines -"

"Cameras."

"Cameras – whatever – and cars and power and stuff, then why don't we have them any more? Why is everything so crappy?"

"Mind your language!" I scalded. Penfold barked as if to back me up, but I realised that he was barking at Gabe; the great guardian had started to turn his head, creaking metal roaring throughout the sky – this action which wasn't a good sign if our father was to be believed.

"Are there nukes coming?" asked Eric, panic evident in his voice.

"I doubt there are any left. Not after everything that happened."

"But what did happen? How did we get here?" Eric asked again, innocence exaggerated in his tone. I looked at him – he certainly was being suspiciously persistent, then it dawned on me why.

"You've asked Dad haven't you?" I said, looking him in the eyes, challenging him to try to hide the fact, but Eric just nodded his affirmation.

"He refused to tell you, didn't he?"