The Oblivion Society

by Marcus Alexander Hart

  “Forget that,” Bobby said. “I learned my lesson at the gas station. I’m not going in there and stepping in a puddle of dead, bloated tourists.”

  “Jesus Harold Christ,” a fed-up Sherri shouted. “You can all just sit out here and wait for your balls to drop-I’m going to go in there and find some food.”

  “Thanks, Sherri,” Vivian said shamefully. “Could you bring some rations back for the rest of us?”

  “Fuck you,” she spat. “You cowards can starve out here for all I care.” Sherri stepped through the broken door, carefully avoiding its teeth of shattered glass. Vivian watched the blackness of the abyss close around her friend’s thin form as she slid into its ghoulish shadows. In another two steps, she would completely vanish, and then … who knew what?

  “Sherri, wait!” Vivian called guiltily. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You shouldn’t go by yourself. I’ll go with you.”

  With a jaunty step, Trent suddenly leapt to her side, thrusting his sword toward the door.

  “Please, allow me to accompany you,” he said ceremoniously. “It goes against my nature to send two lovely ladies into a dark room all by themselves.”

  “Then I’m coming too,” Bobby said. “For protection.”

  “Don’t you think that my presence is sufficient?” Trent asked.

  “What do you think I’m protecting them from? ” Bobby muttered.

  “Could one of you bring me back a sandwich?” Erik squeaked hopefully. Vivian looked sympathetically into his apprehensive eyes and took his hand.

  “Come on, Erik,” she said. “We’ll be fine if we stick together. Five is better than one.”

  Bobby held the 5-in-1 camping lantern in front of him, in “flashlight” mode, carving a tunnel of light through the cold darkness of the igloo’s entryway. As the lamp cleared the end of the concrete tunnel, shadows of a large, semicircular room loomed chillingly into view. Like the outside of the dome, the sloping inner walls of the concrete vault were painted with an ice-block motif that disappeared into darkness as it slid out of the range of his light. The height of the curved ceiling would have been indistinguishable had it not been for the gaping hole in the roof showing the last light of day through gray cloud.

  Bobby squeezed his eyes shut and then fluttered them open, trying to accelerate their adjustment to the dim light. He took a step and slipped on the tiled floor, but he grabbed Erik’s arm before he could fall.

  “Aaah! What?! What?!” Erik panicked, grabbing him with four terrified hands.

  “Nothing-nothing-jeez!” Bobby said, slapping him away. “Careful-the floor has some gooey shit all over it. Don’t fall. And don’t wet yourself, spaz.” Bobby turned and held the lantern out in front of him, illuminating a shadowy figure. The sight of it forced an uncharacteristic shriek from his lips.

  “What?!” Erik chirped. “What is it?!”

  “Oh! Oh, shit … heh,” Bobby chuckled.

  He held the lantern up to the hideous face of a mannequin in a Mountie uniform saluting a flag that wasn’t there. Although it seemed normal in every other way, the figure’s face had been crudely paper-machéd into that of a grotesque bumblebee, and two giant wings of wire and plastic were bolted to its fiberglass back. A signboard rested in its free hand, reading “Buzz in for a honey of a sale!”

  “It’s a bee,” Bobby said, perplexed. “A Royal Canadian Mounted Bumblebee.”

  “A bee. A Mountie bee,” Erik mulled. “Wait. Mountie bee? Mountiebee? Moun-T-B?”

  He rubbed his chin and stared, the wheels of his brain turning.

  “No,” he said disappointedly. “I don’t think I get this one either.” Bobby planted the lantern on the figure’s head and wrapped its shoulder strap around the wire antennae sticking from its broad-brimmed hat. He clicked the switch to “lantern” mode, effectively turning the Mountie Bee into a lamppost that cast an eerie light over most of the room.

  “What is this place?” Sherri squinted. “I can’t see shit in here.”

  “Well, it’s not the buffet-I can say that much,” Bobby said dejectedly.

  “It’s a gift shop,” Vivian realized. “Or at least it was.” The room was made up of a half-moon-shaped floor attached to a domed wall on its curved side and a flat wall on its flat, joining overhead to enclose a perfect quarter-sphere of space. This had indeed been a gift shop. Unlike the total annihilation of the park outside, the destruction of the igloo’s interior had been left chaotically incomplete. Where one shelf lay shattered on the floor with its glass planks reduced to glistening shards, its neighbor remained standing, still fully stocked with knickknacks, untouched save for a blanket of dust that had fallen in from the hole in the ceiling. This pattern of random devastation could be seen throughout the whole place.

  Vivian looked around at the remains of the ravaged gift shop mournfully. Having grown up in the tourist trap of Stillwater, she could imagine how the place had probably looked before the disaster. Rows of tall, clean glass shelves, laden with key chains and ashtrays and personalized coffee mugs waiting to be plucked up by loud tourists in louder shirts. But now the shop was silent.

  “It looks like that blast wind totally messed up this place too,” Erik said dully.

  “Nahh,” Bobby said, pointing to the hole in the ceiling. “I think the concrete dome took most of the piss and vinegar out of that. This is probably all from that section of the roof collapsing.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vivian said thoughtfully. “Look at this.” She ran a fingertip through the layer of dust on the remains of a glass shelf. The flat powder swirled into a paisley of cloudy gray and rich maroon. She held up her soiled finger with a poignant drip.

  “Blood,” she said dully. “It’s all over everything.” Trent put his hand forcefully on Vivian’s shoulder, raising his blade with the other.

  “Another mutant attack!” he said dramatically. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ve got your back.”

  “Oooookay then! Nothing left to see in here,” Erik said skittishly, taking a step back the way they had come. “Let’s get back to the car.”

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Bobby moaned, grabbing Erik by the shoulder. “You said yourself that the mutations were caused by that toxic pink cloud. We’ve been out of that shit for three states! Relax, Erik. We’re never going to see another mutant again. Thank God.”

  Erik looked pointedly at the paws hanging from his midsection.

  “Present company excluded, of course,” Bobby corrected.

  “I don’t think it was mutants either,” Vivian agreed, pushing Trent’s hand off of her shoulder. “I think this blood was spilled in panic. When the bomb went off, this place must have turned to complete chaos.”

  She closed her eyes and imagined the scene. She heard the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the warbling strains of “Oh Canada!” trickling from the Muzak. She saw dozens of people crowd the aisles, all so intoxicated by the cornball Canadian theme that they had become blinded to the fact that everything in the igloo was useless garbage made in Taiwan. A jolly fat man in a Hawaiian shirt thumbed through postcards of sexy “Eskimo” girls, surreptitiously eyeing his wife, who was obliviously pawing a rack of irregular T-shirts. A little girl hugged a stuffed beaver in a Mountie uniform. She held it up to her mother, who in turn put it back on the shelf with an impatient excuse. Suddenly there was a clap of thunder louder than any they had ever heard, followed immediately by an abrupt shifting of the ground. The lights blinked off and on, then stayed off. The room was in complete darkness for one horrible moment, and then, crack! The concrete ceiling began to splinter away and fall into the crowd, opening up a swatch of flaming red sky. Somebody screamed. Somebody pushed. The fat man looked for his wife, but saw nothing where she had been standing but a twelve-foot slab of curved concrete. A shelf shattered. Feet clambered toward the door. Bodies pushed through glass. A stuffed beaver was suddenly soaked in blood.

  She shook her head and blinked hard.

  “It must have turned to
complete chaos,” she repeated.

  “Look, I don’t know about the rest of you gloomy motherfuckers, but I’m starving,” Sherri interrupted. “If there’s food in here, I don’t care if it’s surrounded by severed heads on pikes. So is there food in here or not?”

  “But of course! When a lovely lady has a hunger at any hour or in any place, she can count on chef T to come to her aid with a fresh confectionery treat,” Trent rambled, plucking up a cellophane bag tied with a red ribbon. “Would a sweet girl like a sweet maple candy?”

  “How the fuck should I know what a sweet girl would like?” Sherri said distastefully.

  She snatched the bag out of Trent’s hand, tore it open, and stuffed a soft, crumbly candy in her mouth. Seconds later she spit it back out with a sputtering cough.

  “Bleeagh! It’s like licking the floor of an IHOP!” she gagged, throwing the bag on the floor. “What else you got?”

  Trent scanned the slanted shelf, reading each label aloud.

  “Maple sugar, maple syrup, maple cookies, maple butter, maple cream-”

  “Stop-just stop,” Sherri said, shaking her head. “Do you have anything that’s not completely disgusting?”

  “Well, there’s this bag of barbecue-flavored worm larvae.”

  Sherri snatched the bag.

  “Now that’s more like it.”

  “Well, this place is a total bust,” Bobby said. “Unless any of you want to pick up a North of the Border T-shirt to remember this delightful experience.”

  “I could find a souvenir,” Erik said flatly. “Just to prove the world was here.” Vivian, rubbing her frosty arms for warmth, concurred.

  “We should all find souvenirs,” she said. “Look around. There’s probably some things that we can use in here. At the very least we should all find something to wear to keep from freezing out there.”

  “Hell yeah,” Sherri enthused, loosening the belt on her coat. “I call dibs on the first thing anyone finds that’s black and encrusted in metal studs!”

  “Fine,” Bobby said. “I’ll let you know if I find Dennis Rodman.”

  “Ba-zing!” Erik added.

  The five survivors spread out through the semi-circular shop. Bobby soon found himself in one of its two legitimate corners. A huge slab of the collapsed ceiling had landed there, forming the basis of a formidable pile of broken concrete that lay heaped against the flat wall. With a small grunt, he sat down on the slab and picked up a crinkly cellophane bag of maple candies at his feet. He popped one of the lumps in his mouth and managed to chew it twice before turning and violently spitting it out.

  “Blah!” he muttered, wiping his tongue with his fingers. “It is like licking the floor of an IHOP.”

  He pitched the bag over his shoulder and was surprised to hear a dull metallic thud echo from the shadows. With a puzzled squint, he climbed to his feet to investigate.

  He followed the rough edge of the broken cement to where the slab met the flat wall of the room, about five feet away from where he had been sitting. The debris didn’t pile against the cement wall as he had thought, but against a pair of steel doors. The corner of the fallen ceiling chunk had dented them in, barricading them solidly shut. For a fraction of a second Bobby thought of calling the others to help him move the concrete to see what was behind the doorway, but he quickly realized the obstacle had to weigh several tons.

  A small rectangular outline peeked out from the film of dust covering the doors. Wiping it clean, Bobby discovered a small sign reading “Exit only.”

  “Huh,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “I wonder where the entrance is.” At the end of a derelict aisle elsewhere in the shop, Vivian stumbled upon a large wire bin marked “Clothing Clearance!”

  She picked up the first thing on the top of the pile and held it out in her arms, looking it over. It was an oversized wool varsity jacket, red with white sleeves and branded with a large white “N” on the left breast. The back sported both a white Canadian maple leaf emblem and a large, unfortunate coffee stain.

  She slipped her right arm into the sleeve and reached around to grab the other side with her left but got a handful of leathery wing skin instead. Leaning backward at the waist and cranking her pelvis managed to swing the jacket far enough behind her back for her to grab it, but there was no way that her arm could reach the sleeve. With her wings, this was like trying to put on a dinner jacket over a camping backpack.

  She pulled off the coat and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. If she couldn’t go around them, maybe she could go over them. With the jacket bunched in front of her, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and then pushed the rest over her head. The bundled mass of the coat sat on top of her wings, turning her into a makeshift hunchback as it yanked her shoulders to her ears. With a violent thrashing of her arms, she pulled the coat back over her head, leaving her hair standing in a statically charged frizz. Erik wandered into the end of the aisle with a giggle.

  “Need some help there, Puffy?”

  “Forget it,” Vivian said peevishly, jerking the coat off of her arms and handing it to Erik. “Here, why don’t you take this. It’ll fit you. ”

  “Oh, thanks,” Erik said meekly. “But … ladies first, you know? You keep this; I’ll find one of my own.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Vivian said dismally. “You take it. It’s too small for me.”

  “Too small?” Erik said, investigating the oversized garment. “Are you crazy? This thing could fit Bobby!”

  Vivian thumbed over her shoulders at her massive black obstacles to fashionable outerwear.

  “Oh,” Erik said guiltily. “Oh right. Er … sorry.”

  “Hey hey, what’s going on over here?” Trent said suddenly, sliding between Vivian and Erik. “Oh, Little E, that’s disgraceful. Just disgraceful. How can you take the only coat for yourself when sweet Vivi is standing right here, chilled to her very bones? You are a sorry excuse for a man.”

  “I didn’t! I mean, she-I tried to-” Erik bumbled. “Oh, just shut up and mind your own damn business for once, Trent.”

  “Mind my own business, he says,” Trent sighed histrionically. “How can I mind my own business when such a great injustice is being done to such a beautiful woman?”

  He grabbed the jacket out of Erik’s hands and returned it to Vivian. Vivian, in turn, handed the coat back to Erik.

  “Knock it off, Trent,” she said sternly. “The coat doesn’t fit me.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t fit you at all,” Trent winked. “I see where you’re comin’

  from, Vivi. It would be an insult to nature to mask such a beautiful figure in such a utilitarian garment. A girl like you requires a little style. ” In one graceful movement he swept a small mannequin bust from a nearby shelf, cradling it in one arm like a toddler. With a flourish he easily skinned the figure’s jacket from its armless torso and held it out toward Vivian.

  “Here you are, my princess of discerning style,” he said glowingly. “Your royal robes await.”

  Vivian looked skeptically at the fuzzy garment in Trent’s outstretched hand. It was a tiny white jacket with fluffy faux fur ringing its hem, cuffs, and hood. The “North of the Border” logo was embroidered in silver thread across its back, followed by a crown and script lettering reading “Eskimo Princess.”

  “Trent,” Vivian said dryly. “That is a child’s size.”

  “So it is! That just means it’s a perfect fit for my little babydoll,” Trent cooed.

  “Ain’t no man ever complained that his girlie girl’s clothes were too small. Come on, Vivi. Flaunt it if you got it! You don’t want people to think you’re some kind of prude!”

  Vivian’s wings bristled against her back as her teeth ground together.

  “Let me know when those black eyes go away, Trent,” she said coldly. “I’m saving another pair for you.”

  With a sinister flash of her eyes, she turned and stormed down the aisle, her wings knocking a load of curios off the shelves as th
ey made one threatening flap behind her. Erik and Trent watched her departure and then turned on each other with a glare of mutual hostility.

  “Women,” Trent shrugged. “They talk tough, but they’re all soft little pussycats inside.”

  Erik raised an eyebrow.

  “You know, your face is still bleeding from where she beat the shit out of you.” Trent scowled and yanked the varsity jacket from Erik’s hands.

  “Gimme that,” he barked. “Go find something with more arms in it, freak boy.” On the other side of the gift shop, Bobby continued his solo exploration. Near the center of the flat wall, he found the checkout counter, raised the hinged countertop gate, and slid behind it. He pulled the lever on the side of the old-fashioned register, and the drawer opened with a loud, mechanical ker-ching! It was completely empty, bereft of even its money tray. He pushed it shut and squatted down to look under the counter. There was nothing there but a stack of mismatched plastic coat hangers, an empty Diet Pepsi can, and a roll of tickets. He picked up the tickets and held them up to the light. They were of the generic sort that came in two halves, one ordering the bearer to “Keep this coupon,” the other simply bearing the word

  “Ticket.”

  “Tickets,” he thought. “Tickets to what?” He put down the roll and stood up, looking around the register for clues. On the back wall he could see a dry-erase board, but its face was completely coated in dust. With a curious squint, he slapped his palm onto the board and wiped away a streak of dust-and marker-leaving nothing but clean white lamination.

  “Gah! Stupid!” he thought.

  He leaned in close to the board and, with several spittle-laden blasts of air, blew enough dust off its face to reveal the remaining words. It was a schedule of operating hours and ticket prices. Bobby ran his hand across his meaty face with a grumble. It should have been obvious what the hours were for. It was written right there across the top of the board clear as day.

  With one giant hand-streak through it.

  North o … rder

  In … gloo

  B … oo