Dust to Dust: An Apocalyptic Thriller

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Dust to Dust: An Apocalyptic Thriller Page 20

by Bridget Bundy


  “You okay?” Erika asks, confused by my silence.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “I asked how you slept.”

  “Slept well, I guess. I don’t feel as tired.”

  “Are you going to put that in your sketchbook?” She nods towards the new spaceship.

  “When I get a chance.”

  “I saw your drawings. You’re pretty good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can draw some excellent stick figures and a balloon. I’m excellent at drawing balloons.”

  I chuckle, enjoying her sense of humor.

  “Why are you drawing those things?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s something to do.”

  “I had a friend who was good at drawing anime cartoons. He wanted to create a movie with this character he created. Her name was something weird. I can’t remember what it was. She was a vampire superhero who couldn’t take the moonlight. She’d cook and explode. But she was perfectly fine in the sun. As a matter of fact, that’s where she got her superpowers.”

  “Cliché without being cliché,” I comment.

  “Exactly. Everything was overexaggerated though. Big hair. Big eyes. Big mouth. I told him that I thought his idea was senseless and awkward.”

  Not sure where she’s going with this conversation, I choose not to reply. I couldn’t think of anything to continue the discussion anyway.

  Erika picks up on the odd silence and says, “I’m not trying to pry, Kris. Well, I guess with the question I’m about to ask, it would be considered prying…”

  “Ask your question.”

  “I haven’t heard you and Michael talk about your family that much. Not that I talked about mine, but I was wondering about your folks. He mentioned that we were going to Marienville, where your mother lived.”

  “That’s his mom, not mine.”

  “Oh, I thought Michael was your brother.”

  “We have the same father but different mothers. We grew up together though. My mom died when I was two, and his mom raised me because my dad was married to her.”

  “How did you get along with Michael’s mom?”

  “Considering my dad cheated on her with my mom, and had me as a result, I’d have to say she was very kind to me.”

  Erika gasps, both hands covering her mouth, eyes widen. The news isn’t as crazy as she thinks, or maybe I’m used to where I fit in the grand scheme of the family.

  “Your mother was the side chick?” she says, gushing senselessly. “Where is your dad now?”

  “He has married again, living in Philadelphia with his second wife.”

  “He left you with Michael’s mom?”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “Wow, that had to hurt.”

  “Michael’s mom tried her best after he left to make it a good home for all of us. She realized that she wasn’t the only one in pain. Two kids to raise on her own, one wasn’t hers, but she made it happen. She made sure that we were equally loved and that we had all that we needed.”

  “Sounds like she was an angel.”

  “She had to be, considering my dad’s philandering ways. He broke her heart too many times, makes me wonder how she had one at all.”

  “Wow, everyone has a history, and never the one you think.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She died in a car accident. She was the drunk driver. She was coming home from a party. They usually say the person doing the drinking and driving normally doesn’t get hurt. Well, in this case, she did, and she took two more people with her. I miss her though.” Erika has the look, the one where she remembers the best of a loved one. Nothing can tarnish those memories, not bad mistakes or terrible acts. The love for her mom shines brilliantly as the smile on her face. “She would be excited about the alien invasion.”

  “Seriously?” I chuckle, not believing her.

  “Oh yeah, she would be one of those people you’d see with a welcome sign. She’d want to meet them and find out the answers to the universe. My mom was a wildflower. That’s what my dad called her. She lived for each second, hardly thought about the consequences.”

  “Hey,” Michael calls from the entrance. He’s scratching his newly grown beard. “How long have I been out?”

  “He’s so fired,” I say to Erika with a shake of my head.

  She laughs, knowing precisely what I mean.

  C H A P T E R

  52

  Michael stretches his legs, clamps his fingers together, and raises them above his head. He drops his hands, cracks his neck, shakes his shoulders, and jogs in place. All that preparation for a day’s long bike ride, about as normal an act one can do in dire circumstances, and all I see is a man keeping a secret from me. It’s hard to accept, considering what we’ve gone through. We’ve dodged lightning strikes, fought aliens, got captured by two idiots, and walked what has to be over a hundred miles together, and he doesn’t have enough trust in me to tell me the one thing I want to know: What did he grab from off the bed after Mr. Resnik died?

  I am livid. I haven’t kept any secrets from him, and if Michael thought I was, he’d be all over me, asking millions of questions, chastising me, disappointed, and then telling me after he went through all those emotional states, to never keep secrets from him again. Well, he doesn’t have the luxury I don’t. I want the truth, and I’m not going anywhere until he tells me.

  “Michael, what did you take off of Mr. Resnik’s bed after he died?”

  “I told you yesterday to leave it alone.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you said yesterday. You have no right to keep secrets, especially if it has to do with Gabe and his father.”

  “They weren’t your family, Kris.”

  “I knew him for nine years.”

  “That’s right, and you weren’t married to him.”

  “Just because we weren’t married, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t family. He loved me. Whether in marriage or not, he loved me like I’d been his wife for years.”

  “I walked into something,” Erika says, stopping short of going outside. She’s returning from using the restroom, and she’s thoroughly confused and feeling out of place.

  “I’m not telling,” Michael responds, kicking the metal stand on his bike off the ground. “We’re leaving. Let’s go.”

  I cross my arms in defiance.

  “I’ll leave you, Kris. Don’t try me.”

  I walk right by him, into the repair shop. I hop up on the counter, letting my legs swing back and forth.

  “Is there something I can help with?” Erika asks while trying not to be in the way.

  “Nope,” I answer.

  “I’m leaving, Kris! I’m leaving right now!”

  “Bye!”

  “DAMMIT!” He pushes the stand back down on his bicycle and storms into the repair shop. Erika can barely get out of his way. “Get your ass moving!”

  I cross my arms again.

  Michael exhales loudly, losing his stubborn steam.

  “What did you get off the bed after Mr. Resnik died?”

  “A gun,” Erika says.

  Startled, I look at her. I’d forgotten she was in the house, and I had no idea she saw what Michael took. I hop off the counter and go over to her. My brother sighs, drops his head.

  “You saw him?”

  Erika nods while nervously looking at Michael.

  I turn to my brother and ask, “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

  “Because it was my gun.”

  “Your gun? Did you give it to Mr. Resnik?”

  “No, I did not.”

  Okay. Something is not adding, subtracting, or dividing correctly. “How did he get it?”

  “I gave the gun to your boy when it was his turn for guard duty that night.”

  “Mr. Resnik must have taken it from Gabe without him knowing about it.”

  “I thought so at first, but he didn’t take it.”

  “He was shot in the head, Michael. Mr. Resnik
had to of taken the gun.”

  “Kris, the trigger was tight. The old man didn’t have the hand strength.”

  “Oh god,” Erika replies, as she goes outside, away from us.

  I know Michael is not making an awful claim like that. I don’t understand him.

  “Mr. Resnik committed suicide,” I respond.

  “You’ve fired the gun. You know it takes a lot of pressure to pull the trigger. Now, think about the old man. He was in the wheelchair. Both of his hands were shaky. But his left hand was weaker than the right, and the shot to the head was clean.”

  “It’s not like you say. You’re wrong. You’re completely wrong about this.”

  “Your boy didn’t deny it when I asked him.”

  I can’t fathom or see Gabe doing the horrendous act that Michael has claimed against him. Gabe loved his father. He put him in the best home, ensured he got the best care, and eventually moved him into his own house. But above all else, Mr. Harry Resnik was Gabriel Resnik’s father, his flesh and blood.

  I’m about to challenge Michael’s lie, but that’s when I recall explicit details I pushed to the back of my mind. The gun was found on the right side of the bed. The hole in Mr. Resnik’s head was in his left temple. When Mr. Resnik was at the dining room table that morning, he used his right hand to stir the oatmeal and to turn the pages of my sketchbook. He had no use of his left hand at all.

  Damn. This is the one time where the truth did not set me free, but kicked me in the ass, turned me upside down, and shook me to the core.

  I shouldn’t have gone to Ashburn. Our arrival was the catalyst to this tragedy. Gabe was handed a choice, and I thought I made it easy for him. But our long term goals and its unbelievable possibilities, ultimately caused him to choose between his dad and me.

  Choices and the madness they create, the horrors that endure after the deed is done. I will never forgive myself, never.

  C H A P T E R

  53

  Montgomery Township, Pennsylvania

  Another small town.

  An old man is working on his car. Parts are all over the ground. Oil and grime stain the driveway. He’s too stubborn to accept his car won’t start again, or he’s bet some drunk neighbor he can get the old sedan running. A woman pushes a shopping cart down the street, while a younger woman carries a shotgun. I look back at them. So much for an untouched haven. They know what the deal is.

  But I still can’t believe we’ve found people still carving out a normal life in the chaos. In their little world, there’s no real difference here. We’ve seen a couple of Macemps, spheres continuously spinning. Vehicles in the middle of the road and no electricity. Traffic lights are useless, hanging from dead wires. They got one dose of reality. Another one is due.

  It’s not long before we’re out of civilization and back in the woods. We go by pockets of businesses. Houses are miles apart. I believe we’re safer here. But it’s a dream with a time limit.

  We rest north of Arcadia, Pennsylvania, and set up on the side of an empty road, surrounded by nature and peace. I trek out into the woods for privacy. I find a little area to use the ground. From where I am, there’s a steep drop a few yards away and a stream at the bottom. A bear follows the current. He probably has no clue what’s going on in the world, just living and doing what bears do. I watch him until he’s out of sight.

  Then I begin to wonder how far it is to the bottom. If I jump, Michael won’t have any problems getting Erika into the bunker. I can be with Gabe. That’s all I want anyway. What else is there to live for?

  I take one step closer to the edge. Death isn’t bad. In the afterlife, I could see my mom too. I’ve only seen her face in a picture. I don’t remember anything real about her. Being with Gabe and my mom, I know I would be happy. Just one more, and I’ll be with them in seconds.

  “It’s a pretty view,” Erika says.

  I know what she’s trying to do. Small talk will not soothe the raging beast. No hell, no way. I ignore her. I have to.

  “It’s not your fault,” she says.

  “Excuse me?” I look over my shoulder.

  Erika walks over to me and says, “It’s not your fault.”

  I’m not sure how to react. A mixture of anger and sorrow swirl in the pit of my stomach. My legs grow weaker by the second.

  “You can’t control what other people do,” she says. “Mr. Resnik had already given up. You couldn’t have saved him or Gabe.”

  “He shot his father because of me,” I sob.

  “No, he did not.”

  “And I let Gabe die.”

  “That’s not true either. Seriously, Kris, what could you have done?”

  I have no answer.

  “You’re smart enough to know that none of it is your fault. You couldn’t have stopped that thing from getting to Gabe, and when it comes to Mr. Resnik, the decision was personal between them. All of it was out of your hands.”

  How does she know? What insights could she possibly have on my boyfriend’s family and their lives? Who the hell she thinks she is to tell me anything about my man? I want to yell at her. Punch her in the face. But I can’t. I see the sincerity in her eyes.

  “Kris.” She gets right to the edge, standing unafraid beside me and says, “Gabe wouldn’t want you to do this. I don’t want you to do this.”

  I’m speechless, floored that the one person who I thought didn’t care is right on the edge with me, fighting for my life more than I am.

  “I’ll see you in a minute?” She squeezes my wrist, waiting for a final answer.

  I shakily nod.

  “Yes? No?”

  “Yes,” I choke.

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  She lets go, running out of the woods.

  I bite my shirt and scream.

  C H A P T E R

  54

  Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania

  “How do you know all these twists and turns,” Erika asks Michael as we make a left.

  “I used to drive all over this country in my old Ford and my dirt bike when I was younger. My friends and I would race. Damn near died a few times.”

  “Your mom hated that dirt bike,” I remark.

  “She knew I was out there speeding, popping wheelies, doing donuts. That was the only time in my whole life I felt like I was free, almost like that kid back on the turnpike.”

  “I wanted to go when you went out with your friends,” I admit. “Rochelle wasn’t having it.”

  “Hell, I wasn’t having it either. Do you know how much of a killjoy you would have been?”

  “I knew how to ride a motorcycle.”

  “Yes, Sis, you did…you do, but you were a girl and my sister. That wasn’t a good look back then.”

  “What do you mean? I could have kept up with you guys. I was better on a bike than any of you were.”

  “It wasn’t about how good you were. It was about the ladies.”

  Erika laughs. I roll my eyes.

  “Plus, if you would have been out there when I was outrunning cops and tipping cows, I would probably be dead trying to look out for you. Or you would be.”

  “You really tipped cows?” Erika asks with genuine fascination.

  “Not ashamed. It was a thing. Hey, do you know where we’re close to?”

  “No,” I answer.

  “Hopefully, the bunker,” Erika says.

  “Punxsutawney.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar?” Erika asks.

  “Groundhog Day,” Michael answers.

  “So, that’s where the groundhog checks his shadow?”

  “The official stomping grounds,” Michael replies. “I went to the ceremony a couple of times. It wasn’t that bad, except for the part where we weren’t allowed to drink.”

  “How old were you the last time you were there?” I ask.

  “Fifteen,” Michael answers.

  “Bet you found a beer or two?” Erika says.

  “More like three
six packs. Stole ‘em. I came home that night and slept under the bed. It was the coolest spot in the whole house.” Michael laughs so hard, he nearly runs into a car in the road. “I miss those days. I had no worries. I was free to do whatever I wanted.”

  “You know what I’m going to miss?” Erika says. “Being on the internet, taking pictures with filters, watching dance videos, and reading about the president’s scandals she was involved in. What about you, Kris? What are you going to miss?”

  The man I love is the only answer I can come up with, but this is a time of remembering the good old days, not moments of sadness and regret.

  “I don’t know,” I manage to answer.

  The awkward quiet is upon us, and it passes fairly quickly as we approach Punxsutawney. Looking around, we notice there’s something wrong. Michael picks up on the same vibe. Instead of going directly through the town center, we hide behind the side of a local downtown building.

  Michael looks around the corner and snaps his head back. He shushes us and points to the back of the building we’re leaning against. I go first. Erika is behind me. Michael brings up the rear. When we get to the end of the building, he points to the left at the alley, rushing us to hide behind the garbage bins. Disgusting black water trickles in the crevice between the building and the stone ground. Smells of spoiled and rotted trash lingers.

  “Why are we back here?” Erika complains.

  “Hush,” Michael says.

  Then I see why we’re hiding. A Tracker Bot appears at the entrance to the alley. It’s not moving on. We can’t go in the other direction. The Tracker Bot will spot us if we do. There’s no crossing over. A high fence covered in flowering vines backs up to a brick wall. We are trapped.

  The Tracker Bot rises. Shadows stretch in the road beyond the opening of the alley. Footsteps are getting louder. First, we see an alien, hair the color of spring nyanza, flowing down her back. Her stature is straight. As soon as she’s gone, humans walk into view. They’re shackled at the necks, wrists cuffed behind their backs. Aliens with weapons march with them. Crying among the shuffling of feet can be heard, unknown speech from the aliens intermingled. The procession goes on for quite some time, and then there’s a quiet. The Tracker Bot is long gone, keeping up with the captive humans and the dominating aliens.

 

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