Lincoln Memorial

         Ray ducked from the giant ant mandibles. Moistened with poison, they tried to chew at him out through one of the holes in the wreckage of an overturned tractor trailer that Ray was hiding in with his mule. He had barely managed to block the entryway with debris after getting himself and his mule inside the mangled and rusted heap of metal, before the ants started to attack. Once catching their scent, the two worker ants would not likely leave until they had their food, Ray and his muleLincoln. Ray had eaten ant before, but was not quite ready to return the favor.

         In a fit of amusement, Ray had named his mule Lincoln. Lincoln had been the President of the American government during the first Civil War in the United States. The results of the second Civil War had been catastrophic. Fighting. Army against army. Brother against brother. And ultimately a nuclear war that had destroyed and altered the world. Ray often joked about how Lincoln would save them, bridging the differences between what remained of the United States; all those numerous factions and societies vying for control and power. No one ever got the joke though. No one really bothered to study history anymore, since the Great War.

         Ray could hear the ants clattering over the debris of the truck, their hard exoskeleton clanking against the metal shell of the freight trailer. Probably for safety and comfort, Lincoln nuzzled in close. Ray smacked his nose away. Damn mule.

         It did not take long for one of the ants to poke its antenna in through one of the cracks where the trailer had rusted through, searching for its prey. Ray knew that ants used their antennae for both touch and smell, and that removing them confused the ant’s senses. The antenna gave a satisfying snap as Ray yanked it from the ant’s head. It was soon followed by the other after the ant sent it in to investigate the disappearance of the first antenna.

         Ray could hear the ant as it clattered across the trailer and onto the ground. They often went crazy this way after their antennae were removed, since it screwed up their senses. Living in the world the way it was, people didn’t survive long if they didn’t know such things.

         It was a long time before the second ant came to investigate, but its antennae were soon confiscated. It was getting dusk by the time Ray was convinced that it was safe for he and his mule to venture out of their shelter. After some visual scanning, Ray was able to spot one of the ants of in the distance, crawling around in confused patterns, unable to adjust to the assault to its senses. Ray decided to collect Lincoln and head out. Lincoln was a pain in the ass, but he never ventured far.

         After finding the mule, Ray felt his heart pound in his chest as he noticed the form of the second ant looming out in the gathering dark behind the mule. The ant was perfectly still, perhaps its instinct was to sit still in the confusion that followed the loss of its senses. Damn.

         Ray crept along slowly toward Lincoln, trying to go as slowly and as softly as he could. The ant may have confused senses, but it still had its eyesight, and Ray was hoping that he could get to Lincoln, and lead him away without arousing the ant. Part of him could not believe he was risking himself over a worthless mule. Well, maybe it wasn't so much the mule as it was the packed belongings that the mule carried on his back. Yeah, that must be it.

         Ray felt some relief when he was able to sidle up to the mule and grab hold of his halter. That relief quickly faded when he tugged on the lead, but the mule did not move. Damn mule!

         It was then that he felt Lincoln move, and he looked around to see the mule kick the ant and crush its head with his powerful hooves. In kick after kick, the mule dealt blows that would be sure to exterminate the giant insect, but not before the mule took a few injuries of its own. Ray knew that the poison on the mandibles that had rent the mule's flesh would kill Lincoln quickly.

         Ray sat down in the dirt and took the mule's head into his lap, as it lay in the dirt, taking in its last dying breaths. It was not long before Ray saw the light of life leave Lincoln's eyes, as he stroked the head cradled in his lap. He wasn't sure how long they sat this way together, but at some point rational thought kicked in, clearing his head from the fog that had seemed to come over his mind. He knew he had to get his things together and take care of eating and preparing some food for the next few days. In this world, he had learned to never waste meat, no matter its source. Meeting basic needs was always job one.

         Ray thought about how mule probably tasted much better than ant meat. He quickly removed his gear from the mule’s body and set to burying it under a pile of rocks in an attempt to push the thought from his mind. Eating his once companion somehow seemed unacceptable, though he could not quite put his finger on why he felt that way.

          After finishing the makeshift memorial, Ray roasted as much of the ant meat as he could carry, ate a quick meal, and then packed up his belongings. He took one last look at the memorial before he left. He had used a board that he had found in the truck’s wreckage, and a bit of chalk he carried in his belongings to construct a quick headstone. It read, “Stubborn Mule.”