by Rod Rayborne
"The people are the many."
"The State is the people."
"We the people?"
"We the many. The people are the body. Every body needs a head."
"And you?"
"Yours truly."
"The head?"
"United we stand."
"And those who disagree?"
"Divided we fall."
"Strange, didn't a certain dictator of the last century say that same thing."
"How far can a body with two heads go? It depends not where a good idea came from. Would you refuse to drive a car if you discovered that the prehistoric inventor of the wheel was a monster? I think not, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. This is a unique time, Brooks. Delivered into our hands all gift wrapped by our enemies. We have the unprecedented opportunity to seize control of our destinies. And the world's. And I, for one, intend to do just that. To step into the pages of history. It's an opportunity I have no intention of squandering."
"I wonder..." Brooks began.
"Wonder no more! You're watching history unfold, gentlemen. Unfortunately it will have to do so without your eager assistance. We need men of truer caliber than you two can muster. Strength, not weakness, is our future."
Lowry turned to the MPs behind him. "Place these men under arrest. Treason is the charge."
"I'm afraid you're right, Lowry," Brooks said as they were seized from behind. "We're all going to go down in history, but not I think for the reasons you imagine."
Lowry grinned as the door slammed shut.
Chapter Thirty Seven
I n the darkness, Gordon hunkered in the wake of a fallen office complex, crouching in the small triangle beneath a large slab of concrete leaning against another building at a roughly 120° angle. Piled against that were still more heavy chunks of concrete. The whole looked horribly precarious and Gordon hoped that might be enough to discourage any chance passers-by from a deeper inspection.
That the soldier who'd approached him in the lobby of the La Brea Tar Pits had suspected that his body didn't quite fit in with the others scattered about, told him he had probably best find another way to remain concealed from the military types. More interesting was the man's working flashlight. It appeared that the EMP wasn't quite as all encompassing as he had thought.
The dead, those who had passed in the Blow, were decaying faster than he had supposed. Decomposition was already beginning to reduce many of the bodies to liquidy masses of purifying flesh, helped along by the extraordinary heat. They still resembled the bodies of the recently deceased of course and, from a distance, would continue to do so for weeks to come, but with that came the runnels of ooze that inevitably spread around the shapes, seeps of black corruption running from every body opening, merging to form thin ponds of sticky brackish goo and their corresponding tributaries.
On top of all that was the overwhelming odor of death, multiplied by the sheer numbers of the dead. It was all convincing proof to any curious onlooker that Gordon's seemingly unblemished body might be worthy of further investigation, something he preferred to avoid.
As Gordon watched, movement a few blocks away caught his attention. His eyes flicked upward and he could just make out a slight shuffling high atop a building. He frowned, his eyes narrowing, catching his breath between gritted teeth. Just then behind the figures balancing on the escarpment, the sky momentarily flared orange and the silhouettes of seven men, rifles aimed downward, flared into view. The men were dressed in a hodge podge of attire, one helmeted, the others wearing caps or bandanas. Leather vests were also in evidence.
Gordon fell back, binoculars banging against the side of the building. Heart pounding, he snatched them up again and backed further into the concrete cave. But the men didn't appear to hear the noise, their attention attracted elsewhere.
One was pointing to the north, the others following his gaze. Then the first who had pointed lifted his rifle and a pop was heard. The men stood for a moment, watching, then laughed, silently congratulating the marksman with hearty slaps to his back. Some minutes later the scene was repeated with the same happy ending. They were taking pot shots but at what he had no way of knowing.
Gordon crouched there a few minutes and then backed to the other end of the rough enclosure. He turned to watch the triangle of wan light grow on the pavement without. He laid down then, eyes heavy, pulling his pack alongside his recumbent body.
How long he laid unconscious in his tiny alcove he didn't know. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that more light had returned to the world, at least in part. He crawled to the entrance, pushing his pack out of the way where he'd laid it as something of a barrier and looked up at the building where the men had stood the night before. They were gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and glanced skyward. Even brown as it was, a medium dark smoky haze, to him, it was the sweetest sight he had ever seen.
He stood and stretched, twisting and bending, while he looked about him. The city that but hours before had felt like one of the darkest pits of hell now seemed almost amiable in it's welcome tan glow. He could see!
Moreover, he felt more refreshed than he had in months, apocalypse be damned! Despite himself, he smiled broadly. Then he paused to consider his situation. Except for the smoke, nothing had really changed. The soldiers were still there. And other men as well. They hadn't gone away, he was sure. Perhaps they were sheltering in some building nearby. Who knew? He felt an electric shiver tingle along his neck and shook it off.
It was still hot, still smoky, and he had no idea how far the disaster extended outside the city. It could be worldwide for all he knew. Water was scarce, unspoiled food scarcer. If he had simply awakened to this world from the one he known before the Blow, he would be cowering in terror wondering how such a tragedy could have occurred. He had nothing to celebrate.
But now after the horrors of the last few days, the light ripped the melancholy from him. It couldn't be helped.
He rubbed his hand over his prickly chin and grimaced. Looking down, his clothes looked like he had been dragged behind a monster truck at a mud rally. He was a sight. No doubt about it. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned and stooped to retrieve his gear, throwing it on in one lusty flourish. In the light of the new dawn, he hoped to determine just where he was in the city, as he had run long into the night hoping to put as much distance as possible between himself and the soldiers at the tar pits. He looked out at a sky, spotted with blue.
"You were right, dad," he said to himself quietly. "Everything is relative." Smiling again, he turned and marched out of the filthy, grease smeared alley.
Chapter Thirty Eight
T oday is supply day," Hershel told Rabbit. They were some miles from Angel's Liquors, moving west. They'd passed a few stores along the way where they could have stopped to pick up some of the things they needed, but the weather since the storm, while still hot, was so pleasant, he couldn't bring himself to drag Rabbit back into the dripping gloom of a fallen building. He decided to just keep moving down the broad avenue and let her soak up the rays.
Finally, crossing the street, picking his way through a tangled mound of cars and buses, he stopped in front of a children's wear. As with the other buildings he'd passed, the large windows lay shattered in the street and much of the goods hung outside on tipped metal racks, soaked from the rain, steaming in the heat.
Ignoring them, he walked into the store and set Rabbit on the floor next to him. She stood looking uncertainly at the merchandise and then began to explore further inside. He followed her, staying behind so as not to influence any clothing choices she might make. She walked around the circular racks, letting her hand drift across the clothes as she did. This went on for some minutes and Hershel was about to step in with some suggestions of his own when she placed her hand on a dress and looked back at him questioningly. It was a frilly sky blue dress with a white apron and Alice in Wonderland pockets on the sides.
"Nice choice Rabbit," he said, lifting
it from the rack, "But I think we need something a little more practical. Pants would be better."
He pushed through the store until he found pants he thought would fit and handed a pair to her. Then he took her hand and walked her to a green painted wall lined with cubbies. Inside some were a few more pairs of jeans, the rest lying on the floor at their feet. He looked through them until he found a heavier pair that looked about right. He held it up to her, smiled and handed them to her to try on, tossing the thinner pair aside.
After that, he directed her to the shirt racks and stood back while she dug through the bright colors, each embroidered with a different cartoon animal. When she found a pink shirt with a long-eared rabbit standing on a pair of oversized feet, she held it out to him with a hopeful smile.
"A dog? I thought you were looking for a rabbit."
She giggled and throwing the shirt over her arm and took Hershel's hand. Together they walked to a brightly painted wooded dressing room and he nudged her in, closing the door behind her. When he heard her start to whimper, he called out to her.
"I'm right here, bunny. You can see my feet." He wiggled his shoes. She was quiet for a moment and then bent over and peered at him from under the door. He waved and she giggled. Then she straightened and began to change. While she did, Hershel glanced around for anything else he thought she might need.
When she came out, she was wearing the new pants proudly, turning this way and that for his inspection. He made over her with Oo's and Ah's and she grinned up at him. In her hand she held the rag she had been wearing. He dropped it over a pile of clothes that had fallen on the floor. Then he took her hand and walking back to the cubbies, picked up another pair, which he handed to her.
Shoes were next on the list. They looked around until they spotted them on the other side of the store and together they found a pair she liked that he thought most practical. Soft vellum tennis shoes with rubber soles. At first she had wanted a shiny black pair of shoes with snaps and rigid soles but he knew they would be impractical for the road, so he steered her towards the softer ones. The shoes she finally settled on had small flowers printed on the. A broad brimmed hat came next. He wanted her to have some protection from either the heat or the rain, should it fall again. Then, feeling better, he walked her out to the street and put her back on his shoulders.
Now it was time for Hershel to pick up a few things for himself. They walked down the middle of the wide six-lane road, weaving around the stalled cars, until he spotted an Outdoor Sportsmen store. The building was vast and in remarkably uncluttered condition. The windows were blown out of course and a number of ceiling tiles were hanging down along with a few wires laying over the outerwear section. Some racks had spilled over as well, but it wasn't difficult to get around. As with most of the places they went, they had to move around bodies.
When they'd first begun to walk hours before, Hershel was concerned that their sight and smell might disturb Rabbit. To his amazement however, she appeared little effected by them. Other than to wave her hand in front of her face when they chanced to pass some of the more odorous ones, she neither stared at nor avoided them, simply seeing them like any other object lying about. To Hershel, this was a wonderfully unexpected blessing that served him now as they moved through the store.
What Hershel found disturbing though was the complete lack of insects. Flies, to be more precise. He wasn't particularly up on the circle of life but he knew enough about death to know that flies always accompanied it. Their absence in the face of so vast a banquet was unsettling. He'd never known a fly to pass up a hearty meal either in the form of pustuled decay or lumpy excrement. The implications were something he fought to put from his mind.
Now as they walked to the gun department, Hershel's thoughts drifted elsewhere. Before he had met Rabbit, he hadn't felt the need for a weapon. He had done fine by himself, but with the additional responsibility of caring for Rabbit's protection, he thought it best to be prepared for any threats that might come their way. How the addition of one little girl to his life could force this new perspective on him in so short a time was a wonder.
Approaching the counter for Guns and Ammunition, Hershel grabbed one of the several bar type stools and placed Rabbit on it. He gave her a small plastic duck decoy and told her to stay put. Then he walked around the counter and looked at the long row of handguns, semi auto rifles and shotguns. Finding what he wanted, a 12 gauge Mossberg, he laid it on the counter. Reaching underneath, he pulled out four boxes of shells and pushed two into the chamber, racking them.
He set it down again and picked up a short barreled revolver, loading it as well. He pushed the revolver into the rear of his pants movie style. The heavy steel dug into his back. Pushing it lower, it slipped into his pants. Annoyed, he yanked it back out and looked at it a moment. It looked great on the big screen when an actor whipped his pistol out in one fluid motion but was impractical in real life, he realized. He could look for a holster but decided the shotgun was intimidation enough.
Laying the revolver back on the counter, he hefted the shotgun. Making sure the safety was on, he pulled it over his right shoulder. With his massive build, there was no play in the strap. He actually thought it a bit snug, loosening it to allow it to be removed in a hurry, should the need arise. Then grabbing a few boxes of shells, he walked back around the counter and lifted Rabbit in his other arm.
Together they walked to the pack aisle. He set her down there and found a large brown canvas backpack. He placed the ammo in the side pockets, dropped in a few other essentials he thought he could use, a compass, binoculars, a combination knife and a bright orange whistle for Rabbit. Pulling on the pack, he scooped her up and they walked out of the store.
Giving Rabbit the whistle, she turned it over in her hands a few times before Hershel showed her how it worked. Thereon she blew on it as they walked until she became bored with it and began to whine. She had moved from sitting on his shoulders to sitting on top of the backpack. He knew she must have been getting tired because he could feel that she was resting her chin on his head, arms still around his neck.
"Getting hungry?" Hershel called up to her.
For answer, she nodded. He could feel her chin rubbing against his head.
"ok, let's see what we can find. You want a hamburger?"
Her chin enthusiastically rubbed yes. At this rate, he thought, I'm going to get a bald spot right on top of my head.
"ok," he called out to her. "I see a restaurant right across the street. Let's see if I can't rustle us up some grub, Pardner."
He crossed the street, twisting through the pileups and walked to the Burgers and Buns Smokehouse. An old building, long and low with both indoor and outdoor seating under a crooked awning. They walked into the restaurant, well lit by a long row of missing windows. He dropped Rabbit to her feet and threw his pack on the counter. Then reaching for her hand, they walked back to the kitchen. It was a little darker here but not such that he couldn't see well enough to cook.
He sat Rabbit on a stainless steel prep table and then checked to see if the burners still worked. They didn't. Unsurprised, he looked around instead for the hickory logs he had expected to find. Since people had gotten the taste for freshly smoked beef, restaurants like B and B had made it a habit to have wood on hand to fill that need. As long as he could find beef that hadn't gotten too warm, hopefully still in the once refrigerated walk-in, he could prepare them both a meal to be proud of.
Finding the brick grill, a short, rectangular affair, he saw a pile of split logs sitting on the floor next to it. He cranked the handle on the lift, raising it up so that he could get the wood inside. Throwing in six quarter split logs, he rolled the wire grill back into place. Grabbing a bottle of butane, he lightly sprinkled it over the wood and then dropped a match inside. Instantly the wood flared to life and he leaned back.
He looked at Rabbit to make sure he hadn't startled her but she was watching something else on the other side of the kitchen. He
walked to the freezer, relieved that the door was still closed and pulled it open. There was no hint of coolness left, but it wasn't hot either. Propping the door open with a mop bucket, he walked in and looked at the shelves. He noticed a faint odor of decaying meat and determined to cook the shine off of it if it took an hour.
The walk-in's steel shelves were lined with food supplies, hamburger, chicken, pastries, giant cans of tomato sauce, cheeses and dough. Potatoes and bags of mixed vegetables and condiments. Jugs of lumpy milk.
Just looking at it all made his stomach growl. Stacked against one side of the walk-in were several cases of bottled beer. They looked wonderful but Hershel decided to leave beer out of his diet for now. A buzz was not an option while Rabbit was under his care.
He felt the packages of hamburger. They were all soft. Tearing one open, he sniffed it, deciding it didn't smell too bad. Yet. Then he pulled open a clear package filled with top sirloin. It smelled fine. Smiling, he grabbed a metal cart and loaded it all on the top tray. He pulled it backwards out of the freezer and turned to show Rabbit. She was gone.
Immediately he turned to looked for her, his heart skipping a beat. Then he saw her, standing in a corner, the corner she'd been staring at when he first lit the grill, Wondering what she'd found, he walked over and froze. In front of her Hershel saw a large rat. It had reared itself onto its back feet to confront this terrifying menace, the little girl staring at him in fascination.
Hershel dashed to her side and lifted her high off the floor. She began to squirm and Hershel held onto her more firmly. He sat her back on the steel table and then looked back toward the rat. It was gone. Then he looked at the girl.